The Rohan Pride Chronicles, Part II: Reunions
by anolinde
Summary: Gúthwyn's mission has failed. Now that she is traveling with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to find the Hobbits, she finds herself being confronted with her past, as well as some painful experiences in the present.
1. An Endless Chase

**The Rohan Pride Trilogy**

**Part Two: Reunions**

**Book One**

**By: WhiteLadyOfTroy**

**Summary:  
**Gúthwyn's mission has failed. Now that she is traveling with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to find the Hobbits, she finds herself being confronted with her past, as well as some painful experiences in the present.

**PLEASE NOTE:  
**This is the only disclaimer you will see in Reunions. I do not, in any way, shape, or form, own any part of Tolkien's brainchild. I am not making any money from this. The characters I do claim are the non-canon characters—especially Gúthwyn. Every character I put in the story has a name that comes from The Lord of the Rings UK website (besides Gúthwyn), except for the rare occasion when I look up a name in a book called _The Fourteen Languages of Tolkien's Middle-earth_. This was where Gúthwyn, 'one who delights in battle', came from. Also, I have a very limited knowledge of fighting, whether it involves 'street smarts', swords, knives, bows, or axes, and I do not claim to be an expert on any of them.

**About the Trilogy:  
**I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. _The Fellowship of the Ring_ had two books within the text, as did _The Two Towers_ and _The Return of the King_. The only change I have made is the first part in my trilogy: Alone. That was divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where _The Fellowship of the Ring_ started. Reunions will be divided into two books.

**About Chapter One:  
**As those of you who read the books are well aware of, the Three Hunters only stopped for one night, in which Aragorn immediately fell asleep. However, I have extended his waking period to include a certain scene, one that I set up for in Alone. This is not exactly keeping with the rules of canon, but in the first place, this story doesn't keep with the rules of canon, and secondly, if you find yourself concerned about a little detail like this, then… Well, maybe this story isn't for you. Heh.

**Chapter One**

Wearily, Gúthwyn pushed a strand of hair away from her face, only to sigh as the wind flung it back towards her again. Darkness lay about her, but she did not have the energy to care as she ran through it. Aragorn and Legolas were in front of her, with Gimli bringing up the rear. The four of them had been traveling in this manner for almost a day, with no rest, in order to find Merry and Pippin.

Gúthwyn's heart was sore at the thought of the joyous Hobbits in the Uruk-hai's captivity, though she was not as sorry for them as she was for Hammel and Haiweth. That very day she had failed them—for the first time in her life, failed them. There had been an attack from the Uruks, and she had been fighting them off when someone grabbed her from behind.

Even as she ran, she winced and shivered, recalling Haldor's piercing blue eyes as they met hers. He had revealed to Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli what she had been working so hard to conceal: That she was on a mission from Sauron to take the One Ring from Frodo Baggins. No doubt her companions now thought she had done it for her own gain, but in reality, she had only accepted the task as a bargaining tool for Hammel and Haiweth's freedom. If she failed, Sauron had told her, the children would be killed.

And now her mission was on its way to the east, never to be seen by her again unless she contrived a means of escape. This hardly seemed likely, as the only weapon she had on her was a dagger, given to her in Lothlórien by the Lady Galadriel herself. In addition, three formidable warriors surrounded her constantly, one of which she was utterly terrified.

She could not help but look at Legolas then, and she felt slightly ill to see him so close to her. When she had first seen him, she had truly believed that he was Haldor. There was no distinguishing the two. They were alike in every single way, from their golden hair to the way they stood, their sharp blue eyes to the frame of their bodies. Though Legolas had never shown signs of malicious intent to her, and was puzzled by the way she treated him, she still froze whenever she saw or heard him. Shoots of panic instilled themselves in her, and she would find herself either snapping at the Elf or running away from him.

Suddenly, a shout echoed ahead of her, taking her out of her thoughts. Legolas, whose eyes were keener than the rest of theirs, had seen what at first glance appeared to be a set of boulders on the shores of a small stream. But as they drew closer, she saw that five Orcs lay there, polluting the waters with their black filth. Two of them had been beheaded.

"We have already overtaken some of those that we are hunting!" Legolas said, crouching down beside the corpses to examine them better. Gúthwyn hung back, not wanting to get close to him. "Look!"

Gúthwyn frowned, confused. It had been Uruk-hai who carried off Merry and Pippin; where did these creatures come from?

"Here is another riddle!" Gimli exclaimed, staring at them in puzzlement. It was unsettling to see some of those that they pursued already dead, though anyone could see that these were different from the ones they had fought against on Amon Hen.

"Yet however you read it," Legolas responded, standing up as he did so, "it seems not unhopeful. Enemies of the Orcs are likely to be our friends. Do any folk dwell in these hills?"

Aragorn shook his head, running his hands over the ground in search of more clues. "No. The Rohirrim seldom come here, and it is far from Minas Tirith. It might be that some company of Men were hunting here for reasons that we do not know."

Gúthwyn thought that not likely, but her heart stirred at the mention of the Rohirrim. They were nearing the lands of her people; she could feel it in the air as clearly as she felt it within her. If the Uruks brought Merry and Pippin through the Mark, she would be passing through the sweeping green fields for the first time in over seven years.

"And what do you think of this, Gúthwyn?" Legolas' unexpected inquiry caused her to jump. For a few seconds she stood there, trembling under his careful gaze. Aragorn glanced at her also, and she could see that he remembered all too well the Mark of Sauron branded on her wrist.

She knew from their looks that she was meant to move closer. As a servant of the Enemy, she was considered a prisoner in their hands, and had to obey their commands. So she closed the twenty-foot gap between them, cringing as she stood less than a yard from Legolas. Yet in order to be near Aragorn or Gimli, instead, she would have had to walk around the bodies, eliciting more questions.

"It may have been an _éored_," she said simply.

Legolas and Gimli did not appear to know what an _éored_ was, but she did not elucidate upon her words. Instead, she folded her arms across her stomach and edged slightly away from the Elf.

"Yet I think not," Aragorn replied, turning his gaze from her back to the Orcs.

"What do you think?" Gimli wanted to know, planting his axe on the ground and leaning on it. Aragorn did not answer for close to a minute, as he was looking carefully at the creatures, his eyebrows knitted in concentration.

"I think," he finally said, "that the enemy brought his own enemy with him. These are Northern Orcs from far away. Among the slain are none of the Uruk-hai."

He was right, of course, but Gúthwyn had not killed any Orcs at Amon Hen, nor had she seen any. Perhaps the two different troops had met up with each other at some point along the road—as far as she knew, Saruman still had legions of Orcs at his command.

"There was a quarrel, I guess: It is no uncommon thing with these foul folk," Aragorn said. "Maybe there was some dispute about the road."

"Or about the captives," Gimli suggested, worry lining his face. "Let us hope that they, too, did not meet their end here."

"They are no use to anyone dead," Gúthwyn responded as Aragorn searched the nearby earth once more. "I do not think they have perished." Even though they were the reason why she was so far away from Hammel and Haiweth, she did not wish them to be killed. Many times they had brought a smile to her face, no matter how dark the road ahead seemed, and no matter how gloomy her thoughts were.

"Nor do I," Legolas said then. Gúthwyn jumped a little, and carefully avoided looking at him. Instead, she stared at her hands, and so missed the Elf's briefly mystified expression. A small part of her realized that he did not deserve her unexplained hatred and terror of him, but these minimal objections were easily overridden whenever their eyes simply met. To her, he was a reminder of the one who had broken and tortured her, one who had deserved a thousand times worse than the death she had given him.

As Haldor's unmoving, blood-covered face floated into her mind, she shuddered, placing a hand on her suddenly queasy stomach. So far she had avoided thinking about the last moments of his life—the memories came to her, at times, but for the most part she ran in numb disbelief, hardly able to believe that she had killed him.

Gúthwyn's musings were interrupted as Aragorn stood up and addressed them. "I can read no more into this here," he said. "Let us continue!" And with that he took off, following the trail. Legolas ran after him, and Gúthwyn came behind. Gimli was last, and slowest; for though Dwarves were formidable when crossing small distances, it was rare that they had to cover longer stretches of land.

On the whole, she preferred this arrangement, as it meant that she did not have to run before Legolas. It would seem too much as if he was pursuing her for her own comfort, and the last thing she needed at this moment was to confuse him with Haldor. So far, Legolas had tolerated her rude treatment of him, but now that she had been exposed as a servant of the Enemy, she doubted that such patience would continue.

Despite the small comfort, however, that she found in their order, she was more miserable than she had ever been in her entire life. Hammel and Haiweth's fates—no light issue in themselves—aside, the running was taking its toll on her. She hated going to sleep, for often she was tormented by nightmares of Haldor or tantalizing dreams of what she might have had with Borogor, but now she desired nothing more than to cast herself upon the ground and not wake until the next day. They had not stopped for rest that night, as Aragorn had learned from Celeborn that the Uruks ran longer, faster, and under the sunlight that the other Orcs feared.

And so they went onwards in haste, Aragorn leading them forth by guidance of the trail. Gúthwyn felt her heart beating faster as the land flew past: Though it had been many years, she knew that they were nearing Rohan, the Riddermark, her home. She no longer considered herself loyal to King Théoden, but her love of the country itself and its people had not lessened.

As a light grey crept into the sky, bringing with it a cool morning chill, Aragorn found a sign. "At last! Here are the tracks that we seek!" he exclaimed. Gúthwyn's eyes moved to where his finger indicated, but she espied nothing. "Up this water-channel: That is the way the Orcs went after their debate."

Not even changing his pace, the Ranger turned to take this new path, one that led up a gently sloping hill. Once more, Gúthwyn searched for the tracks he had seen, and was rewarded with the sight of the faintest boot imprint. She shook her head: She may have been his equal in sword fighting, but he was second to none in this craft.

When she reached the summit of the hill, she was surprised, for Aragorn and Legolas had halted. As she and Gimli came up from behind, she knew at once what had captured their interest. To their left lay a series of mountains, colored purple and blue in the rising sun. They were the White Mountains that signified the realm of Gondor, mightiest of all of the Free Peoples' lands on Middle-earth.

"Gondor! Gondor!" Aragorn sighed, his face wistful in the pale light. "Would that I looked on you again in a happier hour! Not yet does my road lie southward to your bright streams."

"More precious than the stone shaped by the Men of Gondor in the Southeast are the horses bred by the people of Rohan in the Northwest," Gúthwyn spoke. "And that is where the tracks lead."

"Horses!" Gimli muttered. She glanced at him disdainfully, for she doubted that he had ever learned to ride.

Silence fell. For several moments, Gúthwyn's face and heart were turned towards the land of her people, and she could almost hear the pounding hooves passing across the grass as swift as lightning. But then her face hardened, for the Rohirrim were no longer her people. She might as well have been a stranger in their country—and for all her purposes, she was.

With a small, barely audible sigh, she wrenched her eyes away from the familiar grasslands and looked back to the Hunters. So lost in her thoughts had she been that she had not heard Aragorn begin to sing, and she only caught the last mournful lines.

_O Gondor, Gondor! Shall Men behold the Silver Tree,_

_Or West Wind blow again between the Mountains and the Sea?_

Gúthwyn had never laid her eyes upon the Sea before, and at any rate she could not understand the hold Gondor had over the Ranger. So she felt not his remorse as he cried, "Now let us go!" and turned away from the Mountains.

At his command they sprung forward, their feet leaping nimbly on the grass; with the exception, that is, of Gimli. The Dwarf was constantly grumbling about the long runs and short rests, though Gúthwyn knew that he did not regret this sacrifice for the Hobbits. Neither did she, but she was inclined to agree with his complaints. Many miles she was able to run without stopping, but she had never gone this long before. Lack of sufficient food and water contributed to her weariness, and as the day wore on she felt familiar waves of dizziness crash upon her, though at first infrequent and weak.

For some hours they journeyed northwest, Gúthwyn becoming more and more exhausted as the sun rose in the sky. They were very close now to Rohan; she could sense it. There was something about the land, something that was carried on the wind to meet travelers. Her body may have been tiring, but her mind was suddenly alive with countless memories of her childhood in Edoras.

These light-hearted recollections, however, were bruised by haunting images of Théoden giving her away to the hunter, thoughts of him sitting idly upon his throne while she was forced to run tied to a horse as a beast was to a pole. She had been unconscious when she was taken from her family, but Haldor's words were the truth. They had to be. And so happiness gave way to anger, and her eyes blazed in fury. Her feet pounded on the grass; hot blood flowed swiftly through her veins. She ran faster, barely noticing how close she was to Legolas, and totally oblivious to the gradual darkening of the sky; so deep was her hatred towards King Théoden.

Eventually she became aware that it was almost completely black around her, for the moon was not showing its pale face. Only then did she remember how parched she was, and that she actually felt hungry. This amazed her, and then worried her. After yesterday's events, she did not think she would be able to keep anything down in order to satisfy her stomach.

Soon, however, Aragorn stopped, and Legolas and Gimli moved toward him to hear the Ranger speak. Gúthwyn stood just outside the circle, swaying slightly from her tiredness, listening with half an ear and doing her best to pretend that she could not see Legolas watching her from the corner of his eye.

"We have come at last to a hard choice," Aragorn was saying, his face also lined with exhaustion. "Shall we rest by night, or shall we go on while our will and strength hold?"

"Let us at least take a small repose, if only for food and drink," Gúthwyn answered, though her opinion did not count for much.

"Unless our enemies rest also, they will leave us far behind, if we stay to sleep," Legolas said, looking worriedly ahead of them at the many leagues they had yet to cover.

"Surely even Orcs must pause on the march?" Gimli inquired disbelievingly. Gúthwyn shook her head and was about to speak when Legolas responded:

"Seldom will Orcs journey in the open under the sun, yet these have done so," he spoke. "Certainly they will not rest by night."

"Unlike them, however, us mortals need sleep, and cannot take it while running," Gúthwyn pointed out, slightly nervous about arguing so directly with the Elf. Legolas simply looked at her, and said nothing.

"And if we walk by night," Gimli added, appearing to be in need of rest as well, "we cannot follow their trail."

"The trail is straight, and turns neither right nor left, as far as my eyes can see," Legolas said. For the briefest second his eyes met hers, and she edged away from him.

"Maybe," Aragorn began, "I could lead you at a guess in the darkness and hold to the line, but if we strayed, or they turned aside, then when light came there might be long delay before the trail was found again."

Gúthwyn agreed with him, and it was clear that Gimli was of like mind. She listened tiredly as he said, "And then there is this also: Only by day can we see if any tracks lead away. If a prisoner should escape, or if one should be carried off, eastward, say, to the Great River, towards Mordor, we might pass the signs and never know it."

"The Hobbits cannot escape," Gúthwyn told them grimly, "for they are weary from their captivity, if I know nothing about such conditions, and their captors are strong. But it is as likely as anything that a quarrel similar to the previous one may result in a change of command."

"That is true," Aragorn agreed calmly, though his eyes flickered as she spoke. "But if I read the signs back yonder rightly, the Orcs of the White Hand prevailed, and the whole company is now bound for Isengard. Their present course bears me out."

A small, unpleasant tingle ran down Gúthwyn's spine at the thought of Saruman as Gimli shook his head.

"Yet it would be rash to be sure of their counsels," the Dwarf cautioned. "And what of escape?"

"It seems to me that Gúthwyn's words are true, and that there will be no escape if we do not contrive it," Legolas answered. Gúthwyn felt her hands trembling when he spoke her name, for it reminded her of Haldor's similar voice. The similarities between the two were unnerving.

The Elf continued. "How that is to be done cannot be guessed, but first we must overtake them."

Gúthwyn sighed, sticking a fist into her eye and roughly rotating it. As they stood there unmoving, the fatigue was beginning to catch up with her. More than anything, she wanted a good night's rest.

"And yet even I, Dwarf of many journeys, and not the least hardy of my folk, cannot run all the way to Isengard without any pause," Gimli informed them.

"Nor can I," Gúthwyn agreed, yawning slightly as she spoke.

Aragorn's keen eyes were on her. "Even if we do stop, I wish to ask you some questions," he said. She shifted uneasily, wondering what methods he would use to extract information if she refused to answer.

Both Legolas and Gimli were watching her also. When she said nothing, the Dwarf awkwardly covered the silence.

"My heart burns me too," he added, taking one last glance at her before looking back at the Ranger, "and I would have started sooner; but now I must rest a little to run the better. And if we rest, then the blind night is the time to do so."

"I said that it was a hard choice," Aragorn replied. She could tell that he was torn between wanting to close the distance between them and the Halflings, needing to interrogate her, and yearning for respite. "How shall we end this debate?"

"Let us sleep on it," she mumbled angrily, the suggestion louder than she had intended. Yet she had no desire to continue running, nor to be subject to a grueling interview by the Ranger.

"You are our guide," Gimli told Aragorn reasonably, choosing to ignore her comment, "and you are skilled in the chase. You shall choose."

"My heart bids me go on," Legolas warned. "But we must hold together. I will follow your counsel."

She saw an unhappy expression cross over the Ranger's face. Despite the exhaustion preoccupying her mind, she could not help but notice that he seemed reluctant to speak.

"You give the choice to an ill chooser," he responded at last, sighing. "Since we passed through the Argonath, my choices have gone amiss." With another sigh he looked westward, and for a time watched the grass moving in the soft breeze. Then, abruptly, he said, "We will not walk in the dark."

Gúthwyn exhaled in relief, stifling a second yawn as she did so.

"The peril of missing the trail or signs of other coming and going seems to me the greater," Aragorn continued. "If the Moon gave enough light, we would use it, but alas! he sets early and is yet young and pale."

"And tonight he is shrouded anyway," Gimli muttered. Gúthwyn glanced up, and saw that he was right. She barely managed to suppress a shiver as she gazed into the endless black, covering all of the lands of Middle-earth with its cold hand.

A wistful exclamation from Gimli drew her out of her dark thoughts. "Would that the Lady had given us a light, such as she gave to Frodo!"

At the moment, Gúthwyn was thinking none too kindly of the Halfling. Inwardly, she cursed him for leaving the others behind. If he had not done so, if he had only waited at the river, she would be in a better position than she was right now. She used to feel sympathy for Frodo, but now she just wanted him in her sights so she could take the Ring and leave.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Aragorn said, "It will be more needed where it is bestowed." He looked to the east. "With him lies the true Quest. Ours is but a small matter in the great deeds of this time."

At his words, Gúthwyn felt a surge of annoyance. "Then what renown is there in that?" she asked, her eyes narrowing in dislike. "It would certainly please my heart more to be fighting in a great battle than taking part in what seems like an endless, futile chase!"

"And if there were to be a battle, then who would you fight for?" Gimli's barb slapped at her; she glared furiously at the Dwarf, yet did not say anything.

"A vain pursuit from its beginning, maybe," Aragorn told her then, seeming none too happy with her either, "which no choice of mine can mar or mend. Well, I have chosen. So let us use the time as best as we may!"

Gúthwyn sighed.

"Sit," Aragorn ordered her. She started, then glanced to where he was pointing. There were two rocks large enough for someone to sit on a little ways to her left. As Legolas wandered a few feet away, and Gimli settled himself on the ground, she took a seat on one of them.

_He will not get what he seeks out of me,_ she vowed silently.

"Now, explain."


	2. Interrogation

**The Rohan Pride Trilogy**

**Part Two: Reunions**

**Book One**

**By: WhiteLadyOfTroy**

**Summary:  
**Gúthwyn's mission has failed. Now that she is traveling with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to find the Hobbits, she finds herself being confronted with her past, as well as some painful experiences in the present.

**About the Trilogy:  
**I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. _The Fellowship of the Ring_ had two books within the text, as did _The Two Towers_ and _The Return of the King_. The only change I have made is the first part in my trilogy: Alone. That was divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where _The Fellowship of the Ring_ started. Reunions will be divided into two books.

**About Chapter Two:  
**As those of you who read the books are well aware of, the Three Hunters only stopped for one night, in which Aragorn immediately fell asleep. However, I have extended his waking period to include a certain scene, one that I set up for in Alone. This is not exactly keeping with the rules of canon, but in the first place, this story doesn't keep with the rules of canon, and secondly, if you find yourself concerned about a little detail like this, then… Well, maybe this story isn't for you. Heh.

**Chapter Two**

Gúthwyn looked up at Aragorn, her eyes taking in his tall, imposing form standing just above her. Suddenly wanting some form of protection, she took her pack from her shoulders and started rummaging through it.

Aragorn watched her silently, but when she withdrew the two scarves, he stopped her. "Do not put those on," he said.

For a moment she paused, her posture slumped. At length she flung them back into the bag and removed Borogor's cloak. "Am I allowed to wear this, _my lord?_" she asked bitingly, narrowing her eyes at the Ranger.

His face did not change. "Yes," he replied, and she put it on, wrapping it tightly about herself before looking back at him.

"Now," Aragorn said, taking a seat on the other rock, so that his face was almost level with hers, "you will answer all of my questions. I know enough about the dealings of the Enemy to tell when you are lying, so do not try to."

She did not say anything as he leaned forward.

"How did you get to Rivendell?"

_It was marked on the map, you fool,_ she thought, but was silent. She was not going to satisfy him, not when he had done so much harm to her chances of freeing the children.

"I said, how did you get to Rivendell?" Aragorn repeated. There was a harsh tone in his voice that she had rarely heard before.

Still she did not answer him. Gimli was staring openly at them. Legolas' back was turned, but she knew he was listening as intently as the Dwarf. And she would certainly not say anything with an Elf nearby.

Aragorn's eyes narrowed. "Was your task only to take the Ring, or was there other mischief involved?"

Again, she did not respond. _Borogor,_ she thought instead, clutching the fabric of his cloak tighter to her, _Borogor, I wish you were here…_

"Who was the Elf?"

_Borogor, I killed him. I killed him._

She shuddered, but pressed her lips firmly together.

"Haldor."

Her eyes widened as Legolas turned around. "His name is Haldor," the Elf said, his gaze on her. She cringed, realizing how foolish she had been in letting the name slip so often.

"How do you know that?" Aragorn asked, looking at his friend and frowning. Legolas gave a small shake of the head.

For a brief time, Aragorn regarded the Elf, and then turned his attentions back onto Gúthwyn. His grey eyes pierced right through her. "What was he doing on Amon Hen?"

At the memory, she trembled. No matter what she did, she would never be able to forget the image of his eyes, so clean amongst all the blood, staring cruelly at her until she had to look away. Even in death he terrified her.

"If you do not wish to answer my questions, then so be it," Aragorn told her, banishing her dark recollections. "But perhaps this will change your mind."

As she stared at him in confusion, he withdrew from the folds of his cloak a small, black book… Beregil's poems.

Gúthwyn's heart stopped, and for a moment she could not speak. "H-How did you get that?" she demanded at last, her voice shaking and her breath coming in short bursts. "How?"

"I went through your things while you were unconscious," Aragorn replied levelly, but she could read the triumph in his eyes and loathed him all the more for it. "I do not know what value you place on this thing, for it holds but childish poems; yet if you want it back, you will answer my questions."

"You _read_ them?" she asked, nearly choking on her horror.

"Just one," he said. Then he opened the book.

"Stop!" she gasped, reaching for it frantically, but he held it out of her reach. When she saw "The Warrior" on the page, she nearly fainted.

Seeing her reaction, Aragorn turned the book so that she could see the words clearly. "Read it," he commanded.

She gaped at him, not understanding his intent.

"I said, read it."

"No…" Gúthwyn whispered. She could not share Beregil's words with them. Not now.

"No?" Aragorn repeated, raising his eyebrows. And then, the action so sudden that she could do nothing to prevent it, he ripped "The Warrior" out of the book and held it before her.

"_What are you doing?_" she shrieked in panic, lunging forward for it. He pushed her away, and she fell back onto the rock.

"Read it, or I shall tear it up."

To her horror, a familiar wetness came to her eyes. "T-The W-Warrior," she whispered haltingly, quivering uncontrollably. With each syllable, she felt as though a small part of her were dying.

"Louder." His eyes pinned her down, terrible in their gaze.

"The W-W-Warrior," she repeated, almost choking on the words, but they were raised. Her face was burning with humiliation.

Slowly, Gúthwyn started to read the rest of the poem. Halfway through the first line, more tears began to form in her eyes, so that by the time she stumbled her way through 'a streak of rushing metal' she could barely see the writing. Terrified that Aragorn would keep his threat, she hastened to wipe them away.

"Yet it… it is not th-the b-beauty he seeks t-to destroy," she said, her voice alternately rising and falling with hysteria. She could barely breathe. Aragorn's blurry figure frowned at her as she struggled to contain the muffled gasps and still her shuddering body.

"Finish it," he ordered.

"P-P-_Please_…" she begged, and inhaled sharply. The tears were filling her eyes once more; she could not see through them.

"Finish it!"

Gúthwyn whimpered at the Ranger's command, but slowly opened her mouth. "The… The…"

"Aragorn, enough!"

Legolas suddenly appeared by Aragorn's side, his normally calm face taut. She recoiled from him, averting her eyes so that he could not see the tears in them. _Please, go away!_ she found herself pleading with them all silently. Her arms wrapped tighter about herself.

"Gúthwyn."

Trembling, she glanced up. Her heart froze as she saw Legolas standing above her. He was holding out Beregil's book, along with the poem. "Here."

With shaking hands, she took it from him, half afraid that he would grab her as she reached for it. "W-Why?" she asked in confusion, searching his eyes for an explanation.

He crouched down beside her, and she moved away slightly. "Gúthwyn, please," he said, meeting her frightened gaze firmly, "answer his questions. It will be better for you."

She did not understand why he cared for her well being, nor why he was speaking so softly. But though she hated to admit it, as she clutched Beregil's book to her chest she realized that she was in his debt. A flush of shame crept over her.

"Please," Legolas said, and then stood back up, moving aside so that she could see Aragorn. The Ranger did not look apologetic, but his gaze had grown less harsh. And when he spoke, his words were quiet.

"Who are you?"

Gúthwyn took a deep breath. "My name is Gúthwyn," she replied. Not five feet away, Gimli's eyes were fixed on her. "I was an experiment of the Dark Lord's to see if women would be a useful addition to his army. My family is dead, along with nearly everyone I care for. I was taken from Rohan"—her pause was almost imperceptible—"three years ago, and brought to Mordor."

"And Haldor?" Aragorn leaned forward, but there was no malice in his eyes.

She shivered involuntarily. "He commanded the human portion of Sauron's army."

"What was he doing on Amon Hen?"

Now she had to take a moment to compose herself. "He followed me when I was sent to find the Ring."

Suddenly, Aragorn's eyes narrowed in comprehension. "When you disappeared into the woods that night, did you see him?"

Gúthwyn nodded miserably. "I thought he was Legolas," she whispered. "I did not realize it until later."

"Why did you not say anything?" Aragorn asked. "He might have attacked the camp while one of the Hobbits had watch duty, and taken the Ring."

"He does not care about the Ring," she muttered, but when Aragorn pressed her further on the subject, she would not respond.

"As you wish," Aragorn said at length. "Now, tell me: How did you find Rivendell?"

She gave a sardonic laugh. "He gave me a map," she replied. "Even so, I almost did not find it. Four months I spent wandering between Mordor and the Last Homely House, though at the time I was told to find the Shire."

"Sauron himself did not even know where it was," Aragorn said, glancing at her strangely. "Yet he expected you to?"

Gúthwyn sighed, running her fingers through her hair. "I met Boromir on the road, and he convinced me to go to Rivendell with him."

"Luck," Gimli spat.

"Did Boromir know of your purpose?" Aragorn asked quickly.

"No," she answered, looking at him in curiosity. "Why would you wonder that?"

He did not elucidate, and she knew better than to question the interrogator. As she watched, the Ranger sighed.

"Do you know anything of the Enemy's movements?"

She shook her head. "Thousands of troops are within the Black Gates," she said, a small lump forming in her throat as she thought of the training sessions. They had been brutal, but Borogor had always been there. "Yet beyond that, I have not seen or heard anything."

"Are you sure?" Aragorn persisted, a hard edge to his voice.

"I am positive," she replied, looking him straight in the eye. She could not long endure his stare, however, and soon had to glance away.

"What of the women?" he inquired.

She gave him a blank look. "There are no women in Udûn. They are down at the Sea of Nûrnen, farming."

"You said Sauron was using you as an experiment. Was it successful?"

For a moment, she glared, bristling at being referred to as 'it.' "There are no women in Udûn," she repeated scathingly.

When Aragorn spoke again, she could tell he was ignoring her nasty tone. "That is strange, indeed."

"What is strange?" she asked.

The Ranger looked thoughtful. "Sauron goes to the trouble of having you in Mordor—and it must have been difficult, to keep the other men from harming…" He trailed off. Gúthwyn thought that, to her, it seemed as if he then saw her in a different light, one that she could guess at.

"Continue," she snapped, her face reddening from a combination of embarrassment and anger.

"My apologies," Aragorn said quietly, looking away for a few seconds. "But after three years, he sends you off into the wild, telling you to find the Ring?"

"Yes," she replied sullenly, folding her arms across her chest.

"And has a commander follow you?"

"Yes."

"Who tried to kill you the moment he had you alone?"

Silence hung over the camp. Gúthwyn stared at him. "What are you implying?" she asked roughly, trying to ignore the sinking sensation in her stomach.

"Are you sure that Sauron wanted you to find the Ring, rather than perish in the wilderness?"

She felt herself shaking in barely suppressed fury. "Stop it," she snarled. "You do not know anything!"

"Neither do you," Aragorn replied, "and surely the Dark Lord would want his servants better informed."

"I said, stop it!" she cried. What was hurting the most about his words was that she thought there might have been a grain of truth in them. Why would Haldor follow her, if he was the only commander of Sauron's troops? Why would he try to murder her, if he knew that she had been ordered to find the Ring?

"Do you still believe in your mission?"

He had promised… he had said he would free Hammel and Haiweth…

"Stop it," she whispered, trembling.

Aragorn looked at her pityingly, and that was worse than his endless questions.

"What made him so sure that you would not disappear the moment you left Mordor, and return to your home?"

"We had a bargain." Her voice was stiff, and now more than ever she regretted speaking to the Ranger.

"A bargain?" A hint of anger underlined his words. "What was it? Riches?"

She blinked. "No."

"Your freedom, then? You would exchange the fate of Middle-earth for your freedom?"

"Not my freedom," she muttered, looking down at her knees.

"And whose freedom do you value so much that you would risk your life for?"

It was a long time before she answered. When she did, she could not stop the tears from forming in her eyes again. "The children."

Aragorn's eyes widened slightly, but she thought he did not seem as surprised as he should have been. Gimli was gaping at her in open-mouthed astonishment, but Legolas' expression had not changed at all. "Are they yours?"

Gúthwyn shook her head. "I have been taking care of them…"

And then she knew she had said enough. Abruptly, she stood, keeping Beregil's book in her tight grasp. "You got what you wanted," she told Aragorn as he made to stop her, "with the extra pleasure of humiliating me. I am done."

Wiping the tears from her eyes, desperately avoiding the keen stare from Legolas, she then turned away and all but ran from them. Not far did she go, for she was a prisoner in their hands, but she went a good ten yards before stopping to set up her pallet. A sudden need to just lie down and _sleep_ was overwhelming her.

And so she did exactly that. After brushing away the last remnants of tears from her eyes, she curled up into a tiny ball on the ground, placing Beregil's book between her knees and chest.

It was not long until she was asleep, though when the others looked over, they saw her shaking shoulders and uneven breathing, and knew that it was not peaceful.


	3. Dark Dreams

**The Rohan Pride Trilogy**

**Part Two: Reunions**

**Book One**

**By: WhiteLadyOfTroy**

**Summary:  
**Gúthwyn's mission has failed. Now that she is traveling with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to find the Hobbits, she finds herself being confronted with her past, as well as some painful experiences in the present.

**About the Trilogy:  
**I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. _The Fellowship of the Ring_ had two books within the text, as did _The Two Towers_ and _The Return of the King_. The only change I have made is the first part in my trilogy: Alone. That was divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where _The Fellowship of the Ring_ started. Reunions will be divided into two books.

**About Chapter Three:  
**As always, I will be using a blend of both movie and book canon. Sorry for any confusion. Please correct me on anything that seems amiss, out-of-character, or non-canon. Just an advance warning: Lately, my chapters have been bouncing back and forth between extremely long or rather short.

**Chapter Three**

"I wish I did not have to do that," Aragorn muttered, putting his face in his hands. Legolas watched his friend sympathetically.

"You needed to get information," he said in reminder.

"She deserved it," Gimli growled, half-asleep. He was already lying on his pallet, covered by a thick blanket.

"Maybe, maybe not," Aragorn replied, but he groaned in frustration seconds after the words left him.

Legolas shook his head. "You did what was right, my friend, but it was harsh and cruel. For what reasons, we do not know, yet I for one will not soon forget her face when she tried to read the poem."

"Now I pity her," Aragorn said, sighing. "To me, it seems that Sauron wished to be rid of her. Maybe he sent the Elf after her in hopes that they would both kill each other off. But whatever the case may be, I fear the children that she speaks of are long dead, though I did not have the heart to tell her."

Legolas glanced over at Gúthwyn then. Her chest was rising and falling erratically, and she trembled; he wondered what she was dreaming of. "Perhaps she knows it herself," he suggested.

"Perhaps," Aragorn said, yawning a little as he did so. "To me, she has a naïve quality about her, even as I look into her eyes and see that they are both hardened and wounded by what befell her in Mordor."

"She is a mystery to me," Legolas murmured, running his hand through his hair. "As is Haldor."

Aragorn's eyes suddenly focused on him. "How did you know that was his name?"

Legolas sighed, but there was nothing to be done. "She is afraid of me," he answered, inhaling and exhaling heavily. "I can see it in her eyes every single conversation we have. I did not tell you this, for I did not wish to bring attention to it, but several times she has called me Haldor."

"She said that she thought he was you, when she spoke to him in the woods."

Legolas could remember the sudden panic with which she had leapt to her feet, staring wildly into the trees and gasping for breath. He was barely able to imagine how she had felt, especially since she had kept it to herself, telling no one of her fears.

"And when we ran into the clearing," he continued, "I saw myself pinning her to my chest, and there was no doubt in my mind that I was looking upon Haldor."

He did not voice aloud the absolute terror and horror he had seen in her eyes, greater by far than what had been there when she spoke with him. It was raw, wild, and unequaled by anything he had ever seen before. With every word the Elf spoke, she had cringed; her body had been trembling the entire time he held her. Even when she was challenging him to a duel, she was afraid of him.

"For a moment, I thought it _was_ you," Aragorn said then, jolting him out of his thoughts. "To the human eye, many Elves may look alike, but there are no differences between you and him."

He nodded, frowning. Haldor's eyes had flickered onto him several times during the confrontation, and he uneasily recalled the amused gleam in them. The Elf had clearly taken pleasure in tormenting Gúthwyn—and all too well, he had succeeded.

"I think I am going to get some rest. Perhaps new council will be brought by morning."

Legolas looked over at Aragorn, then at Gimli. The Dwarf was sound asleep. "Goodnight, my friend," he said, turning back to the Dúnadan. "Sleep well."

Aragorn nodded, then moved off of the rock and lay down on the ground. Without even a blanket to keep him warm, he stretched out and was soon far away from the camp. Legolas wondered if his dreams took him back to Rivendell or Gondor, or whether he was still puzzling out the mystery of Gúthwyn as he slept.

Legolas knew that his own thoughts remained with the woman. He took another glance at her. She was still shivering, her thin arms wrapped around herself. It was not the first time he had noticed how small her body was; Aragorn had mentioned to him that she barely weighed more than a child, and he was hard-pressed to remember when he had last seen her eat.

Sighing, he replayed her duel with Haldor in his mind. The display of skill had been fantastic—he had seen few clashes like it. Gúthwyn had fought desperately, putting forth all her strength… Yet it unnerved him to think of how effortlessly Haldor had deflected her attacks, never once coming up short of breath. Though a well-experienced warrior, he would have been unable to defend himself from Gúthwyn's fury; but the Elf barely seemed as if he were trying.

And then he had managed to catch her off guard, so that he was able to deliver a painful-looking slash down her back. The wound had been shallow—he could tell just by looking at the strike—but Gúthwyn's screams had echoed throughout the entire forest. It was then that Legolas truly thought she would die. To his surprise, however, and obviously the Elf's, she had attacked once more, and risen to her feet as Haldor fell to his knees.

His head now tilting back to gaze up at the stars, Legolas felt a chill coming over him as he remembered the Elf's reaction when Gúthwyn had turned away from him. The sheer power and authority exuded from his voice had drastically overwhelmed the frail will of his opponent. When Gúthwyn had faced him once more, crestfallen resignation was the expression Legolas had observed from not twenty feet away.

And when Haldor had yelled at her… Involuntarily, he shuddered, and looked at Gúthwyn's sleeping form. If there had been any doubt before, there was none now as to why she lived in constant dread of him. The pure rage he had seen was like nothing he could describe.

But what made no sense was that Haldor was an Elf. How was it possible for one of the Firstborn to be so calculatingly cruel, so horrible to a human being? In the days of old, Morgoth had taken many of the Elves and perverted them into the foul Orcs that infested Middle-earth now, but Haldor bore no resemblance to the black creatures. The fact that he was even in Mordor in the first place was shocking. If he had been captured, how had Sauron managed to do so? And if he had come of his own will… Yet that could not be.

Legolas was interrupted from his troubled musings by a sudden movement in the corner of his eye. Gúthwyn had turned over abruptly, and he found himself able to see her face. Her lips were opened slightly; short, rough breaths were escaping them. She was quivering violently, small beads of sweat forming on her brow.

He found himself moving over to her, wondering if she was alright. As he drew closer, she turned over once more, but then just as quickly turned back. Her breathing was growing rapider by the second.

"Gúthwyn?" he asked uncertainly, reaching a hand out. Then he stopped, keenly aware of what he would be doing.

It was not until she began kicking at the blankets in a blind frenzy that he abandoned his hesitation.

* * *

_She was back in the Warg stables. Three years it had been since she walked down the rows, but here she was, and it was no less sharp in her memory. Trembling, she moved unwillingly, her feet drawn irresistibly to the corner. The corner where the shadows lay. She wanted more than anything to stop, but she could not._

_Slowly she went forward. The darkness was swallowing her, mercilessly, and she wrapped her arms about herself in dread. Every fiber of her body was screaming at her to run away, yet then she was before the cage and still had not done so. The door was swinging open, beckoning her with its cold arm. So paralyzing was the sight of the blackness beyond that she almost fainted._

Keep going… _The voices were back. They whispered ceaselessly to her, crowding at the edges of her mind, forcing her to go on. She was powerless against them, and had no choice but to obey._

_As she stepped into the cage, recoiling at the reek that engulfed her senses, a row of torches lit themselves. She nearly vomited at the sight of the corpses, now so many that they were piled on top of each other. All of them were women and children; she wondered at this, but did not think of it any more as her feet carried her to where one certain body lay._

_It was all alone, no longer clutching at the hand of another unidentified victim. For some reason, it was whole again, with all of its limbs in place. Yet it was not to examine the legs or arms, which were covered in blood, that she crouched down beside the body. As she reached out for the eyes, the only part of the face that was not scarlet red, her fingers slipped on the blood. For a moment, she paused._

_The maggots were not there. Instead, the eyes were closed. A sense of warning came over her. _I should not be doing this,_ she thought to herself._

Touch them. Feel them.

_Shivering, she extended her hands further. Gently, they brushed over the eyelids._

_Suddenly, they flared open, cold and blue and endless. She gasped, scrambling backwards, but Haldor flung himself at her. His hands closed around her throat and squeezed tightly._

"_You will never be rid of me," he snarled as she choked and squirmed. "No matter where you are, no matter what you are doing, you will never be rid of me!"_

_As he spoke, blood started pouring from his eyes, streaming down onto her. She screamed, but all that came out was a muffled groan. Frantically, she started kicking and slapping him… all the while, the voices were circling her, converging… Haldor's grip was hardening, and he slowly lowered his bleeding mouth to hers…_

"Gúthwyn!"

"No!" Her strangled cry echoed in the air as her eyes opened, wildly looking around her. There was a hand on each of her shoulders; she looked up, and saw Haldor.

She whimpered, trying to move away from him, but he would not let go. Panic overwhelmed her, and she began twisting and writhing against his grasp.

"Gúthwyn, what are you doing?" he demanded, tightening his hold.

"No, please, let go!" she begged, still struggling. All around her was dark, and she could barely breathe.

"Gúthwyn, it is Legolas!"

She froze. Deep blue eyes met her own.

"L-Legolas?" she asked, trembling under his gaze. How could this be? Haldor had been with her not a moment before…

"Yes," he replied, and let go of her.

As if released from a spell, she thrust herself away from him, grabbing her tangled blanket and attempting to wrap it around her arms. "What are you doing?" she demanded harshly, such a feeling of hatred rushing through her veins that she had to restrain herself from attacking him. "Why were you touching me?" Despite her mortification at him seeing her so weak, she could not stop her breath from coming in short gasps.

"I am sorry," he apologized, but her eyes remained narrowed. "You were having a nightmare, and kicking at the blanket. I thought—"

"You thought wrong," she snarled, spotting Beregil's book on her pallet and snatching the precious item before he could take it. "Leave me alone! Is it not enough that Aragorn humiliated me?"

"Gúthwyn, I thought you were in trouble," he said quietly. "I did not mean to upset you."

"Leave me alone," she repeated, a note of hysteria entering her voice. "I do not want your help!"

"I am not Haldor." Legolas' eyes were boring into hers. "Never would I dream of causing you harm. You have nothing to fear from me."

Borogor had told her those words, once, long ago, but now they had the opposite effect. "I care not!" she exclaimed, then pointed with a thin, bony finger to where Aragorn and Gimli slept. "Go back to your friends, and do not trouble me anymore!"

He was frowning. "Have you eaten today?" he asked. The concerned expression on his face was twisted into that of Haldor's mocking one, and with a shudder she pushed herself even farther away from him.

"What do you want?" she whispered, her voice both fearful and hostile at the same time.

"Have you eaten today?" Legolas repeated, watching her with the mystified eyes that he often laid upon her.

"No," she responded warily, unsure of his intent. "Why does it matter to you?"

"You have been exhausted ever since the sun rose," he explained, and instinctively she wrapped her arms tighter around herself. "If you were to fall, it would grievously slow the chase."

"I am fine," she answered, shifting so that she moved some more inches away from him. She was beginning to tremble from the keenness of his gaze.

"That is irrelevant, for all must eat," Legolas said, withdrawing something from a small pack he wore. Gúthwyn glanced at it apprehensively and saw that it was some of the strange Elven food. She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"What is that?" she asked cautiously.

"It is _lembas_, the waybread of the Elves," Legolas told her, offering her a piece. "I noticed that you did not take any when we began the hunt. I do not need as much as mortals."

"Nor do I," Gúthwyn replied, still not taking the bread. Though she felt the hunger gnawing at her insides, she was not about to accept anything from this Elf. Already, the memories of Haldor forcing her to eat were resurfacing, accompanied by an uneasy turning of her stomach.

"Please, eat this," Legolas requested. "Aragorn will be relieved if you do so."

"Aragorn?" Gúthwyn frowned, glancing at the sleeping figure. "Why are my habits of any importance to him?"

"Because you are, relatively speaking, his prisoner."

"I may be his prisoner, but I am not his slave!" she hissed, standing up abruptly and letting the blanket fall back to the ground. "Nor am I yours! I will not eat."

Legolas stood up as well. Gimli, Gúthwyn saw over his shoulder, was fast asleep. "I am only trying to ease your suffering," he spoke gently. "If you do not have anything, you will die of starvation."

"I am a servant of the Enemy," she argued in anger. "I do not understand your concern for my well being."

"Yet you are not evil," Legolas countered, "and you may be able to help us rescue the Halflings."

To that, Gúthwyn could think of nothing to say. If she had not been so concerned with Hammel and Haiweth, she would have been eager to find Merry and Pippin, but now the Halflings were yet two more obstacles between her and the children's freedom.

"Gúthwyn, please eat it," Legolas said, holding out the _lembas_ once more. She recoiled, taking another step away.

"No."

For a long time, Legolas studied her, his gaze confused and troubled. "Who was he?" he asked softly.

Her breath caught in her throat, a myriad of complex emotions running through her senses. "That is none of your business," she choked out, and sat down once more. In hopes that he would leave her alone, she turned her back on him.

After a minute, however, he sank down, and when she glanced over she saw that he was not three feet away. Instantly she shrank backwards; memories of Haldor, much closer than she was to Legolas, clouded her mind and made her shiver like a leaf in the cool morning breeze.

Through all of this, Legolas had observed her every movement, but she was surprised to see not a trace of laughter behind his eyes. When he offered the _lembas_ bread once more, out of confusion and gratitude she took it. Only when she held the wafer in her hand did she remember the troubles that had become associated with eating. _Please,_ she prayed, _let me at least keep down some of this._

Carefully, Gúthwyn raised it to her nose and sniffed it. She could not smell anything, yet unbidden the rancid reek of Mordor food came to her mind. A sudden misgiving came upon her; she lowered the _lembas_ and glanced at Legolas suspiciously, expecting his eyes to be lit with silent amusement.

What she did not expect was the utter seriousness in his gaze, and it served only to raise her guard. "What is it?" she demanded harshly, glaring at him from narrowed eyes.

"Why are you afraid of me?" he asked, his tone curious and somewhat saddened.

Gúthwyn felt the blood rush to her face. "Is it not enough that I am your prisoner?" she managed, struggling to keep her voice level. She could not let him know how much his words were affecting her. "Or do you wish to mock me, as well?"

"My lady, if you ever feel as though I have insulted you, I apologize," Legolas responded quietly.

"Why do you call me a lady?" Gúthwyn cried, her hands shaking. "I am not worthy of the title you taunt me with." A burning, sick feeling of shame surged within her as she heard herself begging Haldor frantically to please her. With Borogor's body hardly cold, no less… _You pathetic, wretched whore!_ she yelled miserably.

Knowing not what horrible things she had done, Legolas replied to her, "I would be polite to you, though the favor will not be returned."

The words slapped at Gúthwyn sharply, like the sting of a whip across her back. The pain from Haldor's wound, which she had not even looked at yet, doubled. "There you are," she snarled, moving away from him, "casting haughty words upon me because of your higher rank. I will have none of it!"

Legolas' eyes widened slightly. "Why are you afraid of me?" he repeated. "I have done nothing."

"I am not afraid of you," she insisted, but then became aware that her shoulders were quaking.

"Then why will you not accept my offering, and why do you ever seek to avoid me?" he pressed.

If looks could kill, the Elf would have been traversing the paths to the Halls of Mandos. In order to escape the necessity of answering the second question, she defiantly broke off a piece of the _lembas_ and stuffed it into her mouth. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she swallowed.

"You know nothing of me," she declared.

Behind her carefully constructed mask of triumph, though, Gúthwyn wondered how long she would be able to keep the substance down. Already her stomach was pitching back and forth. _Perhaps I will be lucky,_ she hoped, but luck had abandoned her mission the moment Haldor had shown himself.

When nothing happened after a couple of seconds, she pulled her canteen out of her bag and brought it to her mouth, pretending to take no heed of Legolas. But when she was about to swallow, her stomach turned over, and in a panic she began choking on her water. The _lembas_ that she had consumed came roaring up her throat, and when it was unable to get out she found herself keeling over the ground, gagging uncontrollably. An instant later, the vomit forced itself out, and she saw the liquid spew upon the grass.

As her body heaved and shook, she felt two steadying hands placed on her shoulders. Horror filled her, and she retched even more. "Let go of me!" she tried to scream, but her voice failed and she began coughing. Terrified, she clutched at her stomach with one hand, begging silently for it to stop.

At length, it did. Her breathing ragged and shallow, Gúthwyn at last raised her head, and saw Legolas' worried eyes. His hands were still on her.

A wild hatred coursed through her veins as she leapt to her feet, taking her bag and Beregil's book with her. "Stay away from me!" she cried, dropping the remaining _lembas_ bread on the ground beside him. Without another word, she turned around and all but fled from him, moving as far away as she could without raising suspicion. Her face was hot with a mixture of fury, humility, and terror; her wound blazed with fire. Drawing breath sharply, Gúthwyn ran her hand over her back, but felt through her cloak nothing more than the raised welts that had come from the brutal caress of Haldor's knife.

A lump rose in her throat as she thought of poor, innocent Beregil, who had perished rather than torture her, then became harder as his face melted into Borogor's. She missed him so much that she nearly crumbled to her knees in despair. How this journey would have been easier, if only she had the knowledge that he would be in Mordor when she returned!

Coming to a stop, she sank down on the softest patch of grass she could find, glancing as she did so back at the Elf to make sure he had not followed her. But he had remained where he was, and now sang softly to himself, gazing upward at the stars. Every quiet, Elvish word he spoke grated on her nerves, as though it were Haldor's harsh jeers she were listening to rather than a melodious song.

Breathing deeply, Gúthwyn stretched out upon the ground, inhaling and exhaling in order to calm her shattered nerves. It was no use: Whenever she closed her eyes, Haldor's face was above her, his arms pinning her down to his bed and his taunts ringing in her ears. Her breaths grew shorter as he leaned closer, and then he had entered her…

With a gasp, she flung herself up, then got to her feet. She would not get any sleep tonight, of that she was certain. Stubbornly ignoring Legolas' presence, she began pacing back and forth, now and then glancing to where she knew the fields of Rohan lay. They were almost upon them…

Her expression became fouler as she thought of what that would entail. It was next to unthinkable that they should travel through the land without encountering an _éored._ Though she had been gone for seven years, someone would recognize her. _Éoreds_ were always lead by great captains; all of the leaders she had seen in and out of Meduseld, as they often came to consult with Théoden.

All it took was one person… if they found out who she was, they would insist on bringing her back to the king. Yet Théoden would not be able to look upon her without disgust in his features. And when she had told all she had done, he would denounce her before all of Edoras, telling them how pathetic she was, and that she was not fit to call herself his relative.

That could not happen. Anger propelling her movements, she reached down for her bag and took out the scarves. Swiftly, she wrapped them about her, burying the sliver of regret she felt as the world around her turned darker. So what if the air seemed less fresh, the grass less pure, when she had the fabric covering her eyes and mouth? She could not afford to have anyone see her.

As she continued pacing, never once breaking her stride, a jumble of confused thoughts raced through her mind. Clearer than all of them was a voice crying:

_Where is the horn that was blowing?_

Over and over it repeated itself, but soon it was not alone. Other calls sprung up. _You have failed us… You are worthless…_ Gúthwyn recognized them from her dream, and from the dreams she used to have when she was at Isengard, in the days of her sickening naivety. She was just as powerless to stop them now as she ever had been.

And then Haldor's insults, worse by far than any she had endured, obscured all of the other voices until they were silenced. _You pathetic, foul, useless little whore! You were begging for my touch!_

_No!_ Gúthwyn told his voice, a lurching ashamed feeling destroying her stomach. _I did not know what I was doing… I do not want you!_

_Oh, but you were certainly willing enough when Borogor died,_ he tormented her, a fiery spark of amusement in his eyes.

"No!" Gúthwyn cried out, wrenching herself out of her thoughts. Her voice had been a mere whisper, a false denial of a wrongdoing. A hot, burning shame came upon her, as it ever did when she remembered Haldor. Even after his death, she was not granted release.

Once more, her breathing became uneven, especially as she realized that Legolas might have been watching her. Carefully, she glanced over at him, but he was sitting with his back to her, still watching the stars. A sigh of relief escaped her.

_It is time to go to bed,_ she thought abruptly. It had to be well past midnight, and she had barely gotten a wink of sleep. Yet between Aragorn's interrogation, her nightmare, speaking with Legolas, and her recent thoughts, she was suddenly so emotionally drained that she felt she could fall over where she stood.

Lowering herself onto the ground, she rolled over onto her back to stare at the stars. The night was quiet, and the evening air was pleasantly cool. The long grasses were gently rustling in the balmy breeze, whispering soothing sounds of rest and sleep. She felt herself becoming drowsy, and her eyelids grew heavier. Meanwhile, her chest became lighter, as though a weight of some sorts was being lifted off of her. And at last, overcome by the weariness of a hard chase on poor sustenance, she felt the world slipping away from her, disappearing into a calming blankness.


	4. Return From Exile

**The Rohan Pride Trilogy**

**Part Two: Reunions**

**Book One**

**By: WhiteLadyOfTroy**

**Summary:  
**Gúthwyn's mission has failed. Now that she is traveling with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to find the Hobbits, she finds herself being confronted with her past, as well as some painful experiences in the present.

**About the Trilogy:  
**I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. _The Fellowship of the Ring_ had two books within the text, as did _The Two Towers_ and _The Return of the King_. The only change I have made is the first part in my trilogy: Alone. That was divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where _The Fellowship of the Ring_ started. Reunions will be divided into two books.

**About Chapter Four:  
**As always, I will be using a blend of both movie and book canon. Sorry for any confusion. Please correct me on anything that seems amiss, out-of-character, or non-canon. Just an advance warning: Lately, my chapters have been bouncing back and forth between extremely long or rather short.

**Chapter Four**

Dawn was arriving in the silent lands, bringing with it a cool chill and a pale grey light. Legolas breathed deeply in the morning air, relishing the calm moment. Times like these were becoming all too rare nowadays, and all the more precious. It felt as though Middle-earth were on the brink of a storm, one that would end with the destruction of many beautiful things.

A soft breeze ran through his hair, gently teasing it before letting it fall into place. Even his dark musings could not bring him away from nature's embrace; these lands were far from wholesome, but they were better than much of what he had seen. Soon they would be in Rohan, realm of the Horse-lords, of whom he knew little about. Gúthwyn was the only one he had met—if anything, he could say that they were a proud folk, who were slow to forget grudges.

Yet she could hardly be considered normal. A small frown came to his face as he glanced over at the servant of the Enemy. To his slight surprise, she was sitting upright. She was not looking at him, but staring off to the east. She had wrapped her arms around herself, and Legolas could see her shivering. He also noticed the black scarves that were once more tied around her face.

He made his way over to her, stopping a short distance away. "Are you cold?" he asked concernedly.

She jumped, but still did not look at him. Her shoulder muscles tensed and tightened as she slowly allowed her arms to hang loosely by her side. He understood: After last night's conversation, she had no desire to speak with him again. Remembering, however, that she had fallen ill, he opened his mouth.

"Are you feeling well?"

At this, he saw her hands curl into her fists; she also seemed to recoil from him, as though protecting herself—but why? He knew that it was somehow related to Haldor, but _what_ was it exactly?

Just then, there was a rustling sound behind him, and he turned to see Aragorn standing up. The Ranger's grey eyes swept to the west, where already the sky was welcoming the first rays of golden light, and then to the east, where darkness still clung like a leech to the White Mountains. A small frown appeared on his face; Legolas knew his friend much desired to travel to Gondor, but it would be long before that happened.

Gúthwyn walked past him, always keeping herself at a five-foot distance, and approached Aragorn. "When, do you think, will we arrive on the plains of Rohan?" she questioned, her back firmly turned towards Legolas.

Aragorn glanced at her, observing the reappearance of the scarves. "As soon as we may," he responded. "For that will bring us closer to Isengard, which is where the Orcs were most likely commanded to take Merry and Pippin.

Legolas saw Gúthwyn's back stiffen. "You do not seriously intend to challenge Saruman the White?" she asked, a strange note in her voice.

Aragorn sighed. "I hope it will not come to that. It is my aim to catch up with them before then."

Legolas shook his head. In the grim night watches, he had listened to the fading rumor of the creatures within the earth. The hunters had been left behind. "I know in my heart they have not rested this night. Only an eagle could overtake them now."

"Nonetheless," Aragorn began, casting a glance as he did so to the form of a still-sleeping Gimli, "we will still follow as we may." Kneeling down, he reached out and shook the Dwarf by the shoulders. When Gimli blearily opened an eye to the grey dawn Aragorn exclaimed, "Come! We must go. The scent is growing cold."

Stifling a yawn, Gimli muttered, "But it is still dark." Sitting up, he added, "Even Legolas on a hill-top could not see them until the sun is fully up."

Legolas' eyes narrowed. "I fear they have passed beyond my sight from hill or plain, under moon or sun."

"We shall never catch them now," Gúthwyn spoke, her voice dark. "This whole chase has been hopeless from the beginning, and will like as not end in our own deaths."

With a bite of impatience in his tone, Aragorn replied, "I do not recall asking you for your opinion."

He had said the wrong thing. Gúthwyn stepped forward, every muscle in her body taut with anger. "I am not your slave," she hissed, "to be summoned or dismissed at will!"

"Yet you are my prisoner," Aragorn answered bluntly, "and it is up to me to decide your fate. Think well on that."

To the surprise of all, Gúthwyn strode forward and grabbed the Ranger's left arm, pulling him close so that they were but inches apart.

"Listen, _Aragorn_," she ground out, "and heed my words. In your hands I may be, but you hold no power over me, and do not expect to. I will not respond to your every beck and call, for I am neither your slave nor your servant. And if I ever hear those words escape your lips, I care not whether the Valar themselves stand in my way: I will smite you, and rid Middle-earth of your presence!"

Legolas' eyes widened at the last words, and Gimli's mouth had opened, but Aragorn did not even blink. "You are bold," he said to Gúthwyn. "I could slay you where you stand, with your own sword if I willed it, and yet you threaten to do the same, though your only weapon is a knife."

"But you would not kill me," Gúthwyn retorted, "for I am a woman. Furthermore, you still would learn more information from me, would you not?"

"Verily, I would," Aragorn confirmed. "Though I may say that to my seven and eighty years upon this earth you seem but a child, and it is against my will to harm the young as well as the women." With that he wrenched his arm out of Gúthwyn's grasp and brushed past her; she did not move, but stood silent, clenching and unclenching her fists.

Beside Legolas, Gimli let out a sigh of relief. The Elf too was glad that it had not come to blows between Aragorn and Gúthwyn. For the life of him, he could not foresee how that would have turned out. His friend had devoted many years to achieve his skill with a sword, but it was uncanny how naturally and well Gúthwyn fought.

Glancing around, he saw that Aragorn had fallen to the ground as though in a swoon. Gimli stared openly at the Man, but Legolas knew him well enough to see that he was merely listening for the Orc's footsteps. However, the Ranger remained on the ground for so long with his eyes closed that Legolas began to wonder if he had not fallen asleep. Dawn was giving away to a golden morning; when this transformation was complete, Aragorn rose.

"The rumor of the earth is dim and confused," he spoke, his eyes weary with toil. "Nothing walks upon it for miles. Faint and far are the feet of our enemies." Legolas heard Gúthwyn sigh audibly at this, but Aragorn made no sign that she had done anything. "Loud are the hooves of the horses," he told them.

Gúthwyn swiftly looked at him. "They are nearing us?" she questioned, reaching up to tighten her scarves.

Aragorn shook his head. "It comes to my mind," he began, wiping his brow with the back of his hand, "that I heard them, even as I lay on the ground in sleep, and they troubled my dreams: Horses galloping, passing in the West."

"Something is afoot in the Mark," Gúthwyn muttered, more to herself than anyone else. She turned to face the lands of Rohan, and he could see that her eyes were worried. A vulnerable quality shadowed them; when she at last looked away, they were glistening sadly.

"But now," Aragorn continued, and Legolas mentally shook himself, "they are drawing ever further from us, riding northward. "I wonder what is happening in this land!"

Legolas looked to the west. With every minute they spent conversing, the Hobbits drew closer to Isengard. "Let us go!" he exclaimed.

* * *

The journey of the Three Hunters and their prisoner continued. Gúthwyn ran once again between Legolas and Gimli, taking care to remain nearer to the Dwarf. Before them, a dazzling morning sun sparkled in their eyes, passing even through the black fabric of her scarves. She found herself regretting putting them on—the world had seemed so fresh and colorful without them, as though it had been newly remade.

As they traveled through the endless expanse of alternating hills and grasslands, Aragorn frequently stopped them in order to listen for sound of the Uruks. During these pauses, Gúthwyn's mind wandered ahead of her body into the fields of the Mark, always upon a running horse; her own, usually. It had been over seven years since she had ridden Heorot. She wondered if he was still alive; he was not old, so she prayed that no sickness had come to him.

After their third stop that day. Aragorn stood up and yelled down to them. "Hurry!"

Ahead of her, Legolas quickened his pace as the Ranger did. The hill was rocky, and she found the going rough. She stopped short when the Elf turned around, placing a hand on a nearby boulder to steady herself as he looked over her shoulder.

"Come, Gimli!"

Gúthwyn glanced back and saw the Dwarf scrambling amongst the rocks a little ways below her. As she watched, he slowed his steps, leaning on his axe, and said breathlessly, "Three days and nights' pursuit… Hardly any food, scarcely any rest, and no sign of our quarry but what bare rock can tell!"

The day wore on. Gúthwyn found herself sharing Gimli's grumbling sentiments, though she knew that he would gladly suffer more for Merry and Pippin's sakes. It was a surprise to her when she realized that she would, too. Hammel and Haiweth were not the only ones she cared for, though for no one else had she done so much to protect.

When the sun had passed over their heads, they found themselves running down a steep shoulder of rock and onto a small strip of grass. Aragorn moved forward a few paces before stopping; giving a triumphant cry, he sank to his knees and picked something up from the ground. It glittered against the sun's rays.

"Not idly do the leaves of Lórien fall," she heard him say to Legolas, who had come up behind him. Gúthwyn drew closer and saw that it was the brooch from one of the Hobbits' Elven cloaks, identical to the one that had been stored at the bottom of her pack. "We must be close," Aragorn added, standing up and stowing the sign within the folds of his clothing.

The discovery of the brooch seemed to have lit an unquenchable fire within all four of them. Aragorn pushed them on at a relentless speed, eager to catch up with Merry and Pippin's captors. Legolas and Gimli were propelled by this thought as well; even Gimli did not complain, as was his wont. Gúthwyn, on the other hand, drew strength not from their proximity to the Hobbits, but from the scent of Rohan, getting keener as the sun continued its course.

In the mid-afternoon, Aragorn mounted a low rock wall and paused, staring off into the distance. Legolas followed suit. She could see the Elf standing utterly still, his foot propped up on a rock. Her heart pounding, Gúthwyn ran up to them, and found herself gazing out over an expanse of rolling plains. They stretched farther than her eye could see into the distance, broad and sweeping, utterly glorious in their beauty.

"Rohan," Aragorn breathed. "Home of the Horse-lords."

Gúthwyn felt her heart skip several beats. After seven years of exile, after slavery in Isengard and merciless humiliation in Mordor, after countless leagues traveled and journeyed under both moon and sun, after blood shed and tears unnumbered in her eyes, she had returned. She was home.


	5. Éomer

**The Rohan Pride Trilogy**

**Part Two: Reunions**

**Book One**

**By: WhiteLadyOfTroy**

**Summary:  
**Gúthwyn's mission has failed. Now that she is traveling with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to find the Hobbits, she finds herself being confronted with her past, as well as some painful experiences in the present.

**About the Trilogy:  
**I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. _The Fellowship of the Ring_ had two books within the text, as did _The Two Towers_ and _The Return of the King_. The only change I have made is the first part in my trilogy: Alone. That was divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where _The Fellowship of the Ring_ started. Reunions will be divided into two books.

**About Chapter Five:  
**As always, I will be using a blend of both movie and book canon. Sorry for any confusion. Please correct me on anything that seems amiss, out-of-character, or non-canon. Just an advance warning: Lately, my chapters have been bouncing back and forth between extremely long or rather short.

**Chapter Five**

Tilting her head back, Gúthwyn drew in a deep breath of air. It filled her lungs, pushing away the ashes of Mordor. The sunlight played upon her eyelids, and a wonderful breeze ruffled the hem of her cloak. Before her the lands of her people lay, and such a feeling of bliss was running through her that she could scarcely contain it.

"There is something strange at work here," Aragorn said. Try as she might to ignore his voice, it still entered her ears. "Some evil gives speed to these creatures… sets its will against us."

_There is no evil here,_ she thought, wanted so desperately to believe herself. It was Rohan, where no one had ever sought to do her harm, where she had been embraced by the people from the day of her birth. Yet even now her haven was no longer safe. Théoden still ruled. Éowyn and Éomer were dead. Théodred… who could say what had happened to him? If he knew she was in Rohan, he would not turn her away, not he who had taught her so much.

"Legolas!" Aragorn suddenly called, and she opened her eyes in resignation. The Elf had clambered to the foot of the wall. "What do your Elf eyes see?"

"The Uruks turn northeast!" Legolas shouted, gazing at the distant horizon. Gúthwyn squinted, but saw nothing. "They are taking the Hobbits to Isengard!"

Gúthwyn felt her heart clench. Though they had long suspected it, it was a grievous blow. After Saruman had tortured them for information, she wondered, would he enslave Merry and Pippin? Or would he feed them to the Wargs? _No,_ she told herself firmly as nausea began to encroach upon the wild exultation that had been hers a moment ago. _Do not think of such things._

Shaking her head, she glanced over to Aragorn. How was the Ranger taking the news?

"Saruman," he merely muttered, frowning at the west.

Gúthwyn began following Legolas down towards the open plains, Aragorn's worried tone no longer enough to quell the joyous sensation rising within her. All that she could think of right now was touching the grass, feeling its soft texture beneath her fingers, inhaling the scent of horses and warm summer days.

Her feet at last found purchase on the firm fields, landing some five yards away from Legolas. Even the Elf's presence could not deter her. "Home," she breathed softly to herself.

The cloak and scarves she had worn for so long suddenly felt too cumbersome. Without a second thought she removed them, casting the unwanted garments and her pack in a heap on the rocks. Spreading her arms wide open, she took several steps forward and then turned in a slow circle. Above her, the sky was a gorgeous blue, with not a cloud to obscure it.

"Gúthwyn!" she heard Aragorn calling; it seemed as if he was miles away. Ignoring him, she sank to the ground, lying flat on her back in the grass.

She had lain there for a minute, just breathing and rejoicing in her return, when she felt someone tap her hand.

"Gúthwyn, we must hurry."

It was Legolas. Wrenching her hand away and feeling it burn from his touch, she opened her eyes, feeling the smile slide from her face as she did so.

"Of course," she replied, her eyes cast downwards, inching away from him. Why had he been the one to bring her back?

There was no answer. When she finally dared to look up, he was staring at the Eye of Sauron branded onto her wrist, unable to conceal his disgust. Gúthwyn pulled her glove, which had slipped, back over it and stood up, her good mood evaporating instantly.

"I am sorry," Legolas apologized, getting to his feet as well. "I should not have stared—"

"Leave me alone," she cut him off shortly. For some reason, a hard lump was forming in her throat.

Storming over to where she had thrown her belongings, past Aragorn and Gimli, she picked the items up one by one. Within a minute, she had finished adorning herself. The sunny fields of Rohan darkened, but Haldor's face became clearer.

"We must move on," Aragorn said as she shouldered Borogor's pack. "Every second brings the Halflings closer to Isengard."

And so they began again. As the plains flew past them, Gúthwyn's mood steadily turned darker. She could not remove the sight of Legolas' repulsion as he looked upon her. She felt as dirty as a whore.

_You _are_ a whore,_ Haldor's voice echoed inside her head, and everything was brown as she begged him…

_I know!_ she thought despairingly, cringing as she remembered her hands sliding down his back to the top of his leggings. A mighty urge to vomit swelled within her.

Aragorn kept them running all day and well into the night. Gúthwyn ran harder than she ever had in her life, propelled by a powerful combination of self-loathing and the knowledge that she traversed the lands of _her_ people, _her_ country. She was pulled back and forth between hatred and gleeful delight so much that she felt as if she would be torn in two from the strain.

_What is wrong with me?_ she wondered as the night deepened. The only sounds she could hear were the constant falling of feet and the heavy breathing of the others. She was able to see naught but the stars and the silhouette of Legolas, black and threatening against the sky.

Slowly but surely, the sun dawned on the fourth day of their journey. Gúthwyn realized that, if she were to escape from the Three Hunters, she would be over a week behind Frodo and Sam. _A week closer to Hammel and Haiweth's deaths,_ she thought, her heart twisting at the image of their bodies lying, broken, upon the ground. As if to augment her fears, the sky was stained a deep red. _I swore to protect them and I have all but failed._ The situation seemed so hopeless that she could have collapsed and wept. But Haldor was pressing her shoulders to the floor, so close that he could devour her, commanding her never to cry in his presence. Her eyes remained dry.

"A red sun rises," Haldor said from but a few yards away. Gúthwyn stopped in horror, and then shook her head. It was Legolas standing still, raising his head to the heavens above. "Blood as been spilt this night," he continued simply, speaking not to her, but to himself, sounding preoccupied.

A sudden chill wrapped itself her as the Elf began running once more. She followed suit, but could not stop wondering at his words. Whose blood had been spilt? The Uruks'? The Hobbits'? Or—her heart clenched—Hammel and Haiweth's?

_No,_ she told herself firmly, fighting back a growing headache. _The Dark Lord could not have found out so quickly._

The sun was high in the vast blue expanse before they stopped again. When they did, standing nigh to the crest of yet another slope, Gúthwyn was shocked to hear the thundering of hooves. So clear were they that she was at a loss as to how she had not heard them earlier. But one thing was certain: They were coming straight towards the four beings, standing in plain sight upon the hill.

_No!_ Gúthwyn thought in a panic. Reaching up, she pulled the hood of her cloak down over her head, as far as she could do so and still retain her vision. Aragorn was swift on the uptake as well. Beckoning for the others to follow, he darted behind a large, nearby boulder. Legolas and Gimli went after him, though Gúthwyn lingered a second before moving. Her heart was beating as erratically as the multitude of the horses' hooves pounding against the earth. Surely, this could not be anything other than an _éored…_

She was right. As the mounted company gained the top of the hill and began sweeping down it, she could make out the golden hair spilling from underneath the riders' helmets. She did not recognize their leader, but she noted the skill with which he maneuvered his ebony steed; she thought he might even be a Marshal.

Astonishingly, none of the Rohirrim marked the presence of two Humans, an Elf, and a Dwarf. Almost to her disappointment, they rode right past them, seemingly having no glance to spare in their direction. It was as if they were invisible. Gúthwyn saw them thunder by, a sinking feeling in her stomach. She would have given anything to be in the company of her own people again, even if it was in disguise.

The last of the Riders were galloping past when Aragorn stood up. Leaving the others crouched behind him, he strode back out into the opening. With a clear, ringing voice he cried:

"Riders of Rohan! What news of the Mark?"

In a flash, Gúthwyn had leapt up and appeared at the Ranger's side. He looked at her, but said nothing. With a sense of rising excitement, she watched as the leader extended his right arm. He bore a black lance; this he pointed to his left, signaling for the others to turn. They did so, checking their horses and wheeling about with an astonishing display of skill.

Legolas and Gimli joined her and Aragorn as the Riders, swift as lightning, rode back to them. Soon Gúthwyn's nostrils were filled with the scent of horses—the _éored_ was circling around her and the Three Hunters. Before long, they had formed a tight ring about them, from which none could escape. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli drew closer together, glancing back and forth from one hard face to the next, but Gúthwyn felt more at home than she had been in years.

The leader moved his horse just inside the circle, clutching his lance and looking at them suspiciously. Most of his face was covered by a helmet, which had a long metal plate in the shape of a horse protecting his nose, but she could see two dark narrowed eyes.

"What business does two Humans, an Elf, and a Dwarf have in the Riddermark?" he demanded. Gúthwyn thought his voice sounded familiar… too familiar. "Speak quickly!"

"Give me your name, Horse Master," Gimli said, planting his axe on the ground and settling into a solid stance, "and I shall give you mine."

There was a long pause, in which the Riders around them muttered angrily. At length the leader dismounted from his horse and started towards Gimli. As he did so, Gúthwyn observed his solid frame, the way he moved; but it could not be, it was not possible…

"I would cut off your head, Dwarf," he spat, and Gúthwyn's gaze moved from him to the horse. She knew it as well as she knew her own: Firefoot, the very steed that Éomer had ridden. Her breath caught in her throat. "If it stood but a little higher from the ground."

His voice sounded as though it came from far away, but then she was abruptly pulled from her thoughts as Legolas withdrew his bow. Before anyone had time to act against him, he had aimed it at the leader. "You would die before your stroke fell," he threatened.

Instantaneously, the ring about them tightened. The Riders held their spears, pointing them at Legolas and drawing closer. Yet Gúthwyn's eyes were not on them. They were on the leader, who _had_ to be…

Her hand clamped down on Legolas' arm, forcing the bow downwards. "If you harm him, I shall kill you," she snarled, her furious face shooting daggers at his own. "Learn to be less eager with your bow!"

Legolas stared at her in shock, but she could care less. Her gaze now turned to the leader, who was looking at her with a mixture of surprise, confusion, and gratitude. Who had grown up with her for the first twelve years of her life…

"Who are you?" Éomer asked her.

She could not speak. She could barely breathe. He was supposed to be dead! The hunter's poisoned arrow had pierced him in the chest—she had seen him fall to the ground!

"I-I…" she stammered, unable to think. Her entire body was trembling.

Aragorn cast her a strange look. "Her name is—"

"My name is Chalibeth," she interrupted suddenly. A cold sense of resignation drew over her as she realized that she could never tell Éomer what she had done in Mordor, what she had allowed to be done to her. He would think her a whore; she would not be able to bear his shame and ridicule. And therefore, she could not even reveal herself to him.

"Where are you from?" Éomer's voice yanked her from her tortured thoughts.

She took a deep breath to compose herself, in which she hastily concocted a lie. Aragorn was glancing at her with narrowed eyes, but he had not said anything; Legolas and Gimli were following his example.

"I was born and raised in the Mark," she told her brother, "until the age of ten, when my parents took me and my siblings to Gondor."

Éomer's eyes were trying to see through the folds of her cloak and the scarves she had wrapped about herself, but she could see him being foiled time and again. "Whereabouts in Rohan?" he asked.

Another lie. "From the East Emnet, my lord," she replied. Hammel and Haiweth had been from that region.

"Chalibeth is not a name from Rohan," Éomer said bluntly, slipping into the tongue of the Riddermark. Gúthwyn knew she was being tested.

"My mother was from Gondor," she answered, speaking the Rohirric language fluently.

All around her, the Riders were listening intently as Éomer continued his interrogation. "Do I know you?" he inquired curiously, his eyebrows knitting in puzzlement. He had not yet reverted to the Common Tongue. "You cloak yourself in black, as I have only seen servants of the Enemy do; yet you speak our language effortlessly, and, in spite of being from the East Emnet, where I barely know the women and children, you seem familiar. Have we met before?"

"No, my lord," she lied, her heart racing. More than anything she longed to reach out and wrap her arms around him, but she knew she could not. Her tales were costing her every bit of self-restraint she had, though the consequences would be dire if she strayed from them.

Éomer frowned. "And who might your companions be?"

To this, Aragorn replied in the Common Tongue, "I am Aragorn, son Arathorn; this is Gimli, son of Glóin; and Legolas of the Woodland Realm."

There was even more muttering at this, and Gúthwyn gaped at the Ranger in complete shock. How did he know the Rohirric language?

"You have traveled in our country before?" Éomer demanded to know, turning his harsh gaze on the Man.

Aragorn nodded. "Aye," he said. "Indeed, it was I who rode with Thengel, from whom was sprung King Théoden, under the name of Thorongil."

Éomer's eyes widened, and Gúthwyn felt her mouth drop open. "_You_ were Thorongil?" she asked.

She remembered the stories her uncle used to tell her about the mysterious fighter, who had spent some time in Rohan helping with the border wars. He had won much renown for his prowess and bravery, but when there was peace again, he had disappeared—some said to Gondor, others said to strange Elven countries. No one had known anything about him beyond his name.

"I was Thorongil," Aragorn confirmed, "though my real name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and you need not doubt that. Nor have I given you false names of my companions. We are friends of Rohan, and of Théoden your king."

Éomer's eyes grew darker. "Théoden no longer recognizes friend from foe," he said, and the Riders about them stirred. Éomer removed his helmet; the rest of the _éored_ lifted their spears. "Not even his own kin."

Gúthwyn's gaze was fixed on him. Her brother had certainly grown to manhood well. She could tell that beneath the armor, his body was muscular and well toned from countless hours of practice and training. With his fine hair, handsome face, and status as the second heir to the king, she could only imagine the relentlessness by which he was pursued by the women. Then she wondered if he had already found someone to marry… He was twenty-eight at this point, and it was more than likely.

Yet there was something she had to know. "My lord," she began, and Éomer's eyes flicked over her. "In Gondor, the news I received of Rohan was faint and often jumbled, as I am keenly aware of now. For I thought that you had perished, nearly eight years ago, from an arrow wound."

His eyes flashed. "Do not speak to me of that day!" he cried. Around him, the Riders and their horses shifted uncomfortably. "For that was when my sister was taken captive from my family, and I cruelly survived in her stead."

"I-I am sorry, my lord," she stammered, inclining her head. "I had no idea. Forgive me."

Éomer looked at her, his body tense. "You would do well to not spread your limited knowledge. My sister was loved by the people, and you will not win any loyalty by bringing back memories of that day."

"I am sorry," Gúthwyn said again, her face flushing beneath the scarves. She could feel the eyes of everyone on her, and realized that in her eagerness to speak with her brother, she had overstepped her bounds.

"Perhaps she is still alive." Legolas spoke quietly, and his words were not meant to instill false hope. "If she is as strong-willed as the rest of your people, I do not doubt it."

Éomer sighed. "It is thought that she was taken to Isengard," he replied. "She may have survived the journey, but I fear she no longer walks this earth. Saruman will have seen to that."

His voice was growing angrier as he spoke, and she could see his hand curling tighter about his lance. When he next spoke, his words were bitter and tainted with years of hatred. "Saruman has poisoned the mind of the King and claimed lordship over his lands. My company are those loyal to Rohan, and for that, we are banished."

Gúthwyn felt her heart stop. _Banished?_ Only criminals were exiled from the Mark—how could the King send his own nephew away? Her blood boiled in fury. First he had allowed her to be brought to Isengard, now he had kicked Éomer out of the land of his birth. What of Éowyn? Had she, too, conquered the arrow wound? What had her fate been?

Éomer was speaking once more, and she tried to focus her mind on his words. If her brother was, indeed, leaving Rohan, she had to savor these last moments with him. She tried to ignore the lump forming in her throat.

"The White Wizard is cunning," Éomer spat, looking back and forth between the four of them. "He walks here and there, they say, as an old man, hooded and cloaked; and everywhere his spies slip past our nets."

He sent a fierce glare to Legolas, who met the stare evenly.

"We are no spies," Aragorn said, a stern tint to his voice. "We track a party of Uruk-hai westward across the plain. They have taken two of our friends captive."

"The Uruks are destroyed," Éomer replied. "We slaughtered them during the night."

For a moment, all was silent. Gúthwyn's eyes darted amongst the Riders. With a sinking heart, she saw that none had any Halflings with them.

"But there were two Hobbits," Gimli protested, looking crestfallen. "Did you see two Hobbits?"

"They would be small," Aragorn explained. "Only children to your eyes."

Éomer's face was somber. "We left none alive," he said. "We piled the carcasses"—he gestured off in the distance, and peering between the horses' legs Gúthwyn could see a great column of rising smoke—"and burned them."

Gimli's entire body slumped. "Dead?" the Dwarf whispered.

Éomer nodded. "I am sorry."

Legolas put a comforting hand on Gimli's shoulder, but Gúthwyn wrapped her arms around her stomach and stared at the smoke. Her heart was pained at the thought of the poor Hobbits, meeting a terrible end alongside the Uruk-hai. They had not wanted any of this; a cruel fate, indeed, to be slain far from home and as one of the Enemy. Mistakenly, nonetheless.

Her brother looked at them again, as if mentally judging them. Then he straightened, put two fingers in his mouth, and gave a piercing whistle. "Hasufel! Arod! Heorot!" he called.

Three horses came forward. Gúthwyn's mouth opened as she saw her own, looking perfectly healthy, if a little on the thin side. He trotted immediately towards her.

"May these horses bear you to better fortune than their former masters," Éomer said, then watched as Heorot licked Gúthwyn's face. She smiled, reaching up to stroke his mane, inhaling his scent and suddenly feeling much better than before.

"Good boy," she breathed. He whinnied happily.

"Take care of him," Éomer said, and she turned to her brother. A saddened expression was on his face, one that laid a mighty blow to her heart. "He was my sister's horse."

Gúthwyn nodded. Now, more than ever, she wished she could remove her scarves and tell him that she was alive—if only to reunite with him before he left Rohan forever. "I will," she promised instead, her spirit deflating. Beside her, Aragorn was taking the reins of dark-colored Hasufel, while Legolas was preparing to mount the pure white Arod.

Éomer gazed at her for a long time. "Farewell," he said at last. Something in his face hardened as he turned away; mounting Firefoot, he sat upon the saddle and glanced down at them. "Look for your friends, but do not trust to hope," he cautioned them, donning his helmet. "It has forsaken these lands."

Gúthwyn felt a twinge of foreboding as her brother lifted his lance. "Wait!" she called out, desperate to see his face one last time.

He glanced down at her. "Good luck," she said, swallowing that which she had longed to speak. Instead, her mind memorized every inch of his face; from the dark, narrowed eyes to the curve of his chin, to the way his lips pressed together when he was angered.

"Thank you," Éomer replied, and looked at her for nearly a minute before turning back to his men. "We ride north!" he yelled.

The Riders' horses kicked up a storm of dust clouds as they followed Éomer's dark steed, yet Gúthwyn did not move an inch as she watched her brother ride away. For a glorious moment, he had been with her. But now he was gone, never to return—all because of Théoden.

She bowed her head as the last of the _éored_ disappeared behind a hill.


	6. Fangorn Forest

**The Rohan Pride Trilogy**

**Part Two: Reunions**

**Book One**

**By: WhiteLadyOfTroy**

**Summary:**

Gúthwyn's mission has failed. Now that she is traveling with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to find the Hobbits, she finds herself being confronted with her past, as well as some painful experiences in the present.

**About the Trilogy:  
**I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. _The Fellowship of the Ring_ had two books within the text, as did _The Two Towers_ and _The Return of the King_. The only change I have made is the first part in my trilogy: Alone. That was divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where _The Fellowship of the Ring_ started. Reunions will be divided into two books.

**About Chapter Six:  
**As always, I will be using a blend of both movie and book canon. Sorry for any confusion. Please correct me on anything that seems amiss, out-of-character, or non-canon. Just an advance warning: Lately, my chapters have been bouncing back and forth between extremely long or rather short.

**Chapter Six**

As Gúthwyn's heart mourned for the departure of her brother, Hasufel moved in front of her. Glancing up, she found herself looking into Aragorn's frowning face.

"The lies you sow are not helping your position," he said. "Why you would give a false name to Éomer is beyond me."

"Yet did you not, yourself, when you were in these very lands?" Gúthwyn retorted, mounting Heorot as she did so. She would rather speak with the Ranger from the top of a horse, rather than on foot.

He smiled grimly. "Where, might I ask, did Chalibeth come from?"

Memories of her dear friend, lying spread-eagled on the ground as the Wargs devoured her, raced through her mind. "It is none of your business," she snapped, then turned Heorot away from him.

Pushing the scent of blood and the ravenous growls of the Wargs out of her thoughts, she took a moment to glance at Legolas and Gimli. The two of them were upon Arod, the Dwarf clutching Legolas tightly by the waist and apparently afraid to look at the ground.

She nudged Heorot, and her horse moved forward to come up alongside them. "Do not worry, Gimli," she said, though her heart was not in the jest. "We will make a rider of you yet."

He did not respond, but she thought his face softened the slightest bit.

Aragorn led them to the pile of Uruks. The journey was not long, and before much time had passed the stench of burning corpses met their nostrils. Aragorn dismounted, landing next to a spear upon which the head of the captain had been stuck, and Legolas and Gimli swiftly followed. Gúthwyn lingered for a moment, as she had enjoyed the all-too brief ride. Her eyes moved over the grim outline of Fangorn Forest, symbol of the northernmost reach of Théoden's realm, and she shuddered.

At length her feet hit the ground, and holding her nose she began helping the others search for Merry and Pippin's bodies. The smell was overwhelming, and more than once she had to step away for fresh air. A familiar nauseous feeling was rising within her, and she struggled to keep it down as she pushed aside Uruk after Uruk.

Suddenly, Gimli gave a shout. From the pile he held up a blackened belt; Gúthwyn's heart stopped as she realized it to be Merry's.

"It is one of their wee belts," the Dwarf whispered, clutching it tightly. A heavy dismay fell upon the group. Legolas murmured something in Elvish.

With a great cry, Aragorn kicked at one of the helmets lying on the ground. As it flew nearly forty feet, he sank to his knees, burying his face in his hands. Gúthwyn had to clamp her hand over her mouth to keep from vomiting. Then she remembered that the same hand had touched the corpses, and nearly choked.

"We failed them." Gimli's soft voice resonated in her ears, but her eyes were focused on Aragorn. The Ranger was examining something on the ground.

"A Hobbit lay here," he muttered, "and the other."

Legolas came up behind him as he crouched on the balls of his feet, looking around more carefully. Then, to her confusion, the Man started moving on some kind of path, one that only he could see.

"They crawled. Their hands were bound."

Now Gimli had joined Legolas, and the Three Hunters were staring at the trampled grass. Gúthwyn did not see what had captured their interest, but she imagined it to be some sort of tracks.

"Their bonds were cut," Aragorn breathed. Then his hand reached out, and when he held it up, a frayed rope was clutched in his fingers.

She did not understand why the Ranger was doing this. Did he want them to relive the last moments of the Halflings' lives? Was it not enough that they had perished?

Now Aragorn stood up, and started walking away from the heap of Uruks. His eyes were sweeping the ground intently; his feet pressed into the grass as he followed the trail. "They ran over here!"

He was getting excited, though Gúthwyn knew not why. Yet she felt something in her heart shift, and soon she was jogging after them. "They were followed," Aragorn was saying. His strides were longer and faster now; she saw, with an uneasy sensation in her stomach, that he was making his way to the borders of the Fangorn Forest, which marked the end of the Riddermark.

"Aragorn," she tried to warn him, but he, Legolas, and Gimli kept going. They stopped when they reached the first few trees, peering past them into the gloominess beyond. Half fearful of what might be lurking within the woods, Gúthwyn came up behind the Hunters and glanced in. What she saw did not lighten her spirit: The dark, murky foliage; enormous trees, old and gnarled, their limbs reaching in every direction; the blackness that seemed to extend from the tenth line of trees to the ends of the world.

"We cannot abandon them now, not that there is a chance that they survived," Aragorn said, turning back to them. Legolas and Gimli nodded their heads in agreement, but a sudden misgiving came upon her.

"Aragorn," she began, "have you heard nothing of the tales of this forest? That what goes in never comes out?"

"I seem to recall Gimli uttering similar words when we entered Lothlórien," the Ranger replied evenly, "yet here we are, safe and sound."

She could say nothing to that, except: "What of the horses? Shall you lead them through this place as well?"

Aragorn shook his head. "I will send them back to Edoras," he answered. "They know where the stables lie. Théoden will be relieved to have them safely returned home."

Gúthwyn repressed the urge to protest. She did not want to part with Heorot, especially as their reunion had been so brief. But when Aragorn showed signs of waiting for her to respond, she remained silent, and at length he said, "Then it is decided."

She turned away from the forest, and went back to Heorot. Legolas and Aragorn strode after her, going to say goodbye to their own horses.

"Make for Edoras," she whispered to Heorot when she was close enough to touch him. He looked at her reproachfully. "This is not my fault," she said, running her fingers through his mane and absent-mindedly smoothing out a few tangles. "I have no power to override Aragorn's decisions."

Heorot's wet nose pushed itself into her face, and she allowed him a few playful nudges before half-heartedly moving back. "Go on," she murmured, and then turned to the others so she would not have to watch her childhood horse ride away.

They were waiting for her; Heorot had trotted off after Hasufel and Arod. She sighed, and walked towards them.

"Well, let us go," Aragorn said.

The only sound Gúthwyn could hear in the entire forest was their feet, falling with a soft _thump_ onto the foliage. Everything else was deathly quiet, as if they were in a tomb. For nearly an hour Aragorn had been leading them, following the path of a small stream that they had found upon entering Fangorn. It was his thought that the Halflings would remain close to it, and he was right: Not too long ago, the Ranger had discovered their trail, though the marks were two days old.

As they went deeper into the forest, Gúthwyn found herself concentrating on breathing, rather than the hunt. It was an odd sensation, but the air seemed old, like that in a dusty room that has not been opened for hundreds of years. The very trees appeared to be closing in on them, increasing tenfold the feeling of suffocation. When Aragorn started up a gradually sloping hill, she felt her breath coming in short gasps. The climb itself was not taxing, yet she could hardly do it with what felt like an enormous lack of air.

Gimli also had been bothered by the atmosphere, and was not nearly as at ease in the woods than the rest of them. As she marched up the hill behind him, she saw the Dwarf stick his hand out and touch a leaf. The green was marred by a foul-looking black substance. She watched as Gimli tasted it; then he winced, spitting it right back out. "Orc blood," he muttered.

So Merry and Pippin were not the only ones who had escaped her brother's _éored._ Gúthwyn wondered if the Orc had caught up with the Halflings, or if they had managed to evade him. She sincerely hoped it was the latter.

"These are strange tracks," Aragorn said soon, staring intently at the ground. As usual, she could not see what he was talking about. A soft sigh escaped her. Her heart was not in this chase. It was with the _éored_, now miles away from them. She could hardly believe that Éomer was alive, but she had spoken with him, seen him! Her hands trembled; all these years, she had thought him dead, yet to know that he still breathed and walked upon the lands of Middle-earth sent waves of exhilaration through her.

And if Éomer had survived… she clenched her fists in excitement. That would mean that it was not so inconceivable that Éowyn had, as well. Why had she forgotten to ask him? She should have found a way to slip it into the conversation… anything was better than this tortured wondering. Hope was rising so high within her that she had to sternly remind herself that nothing had been confirmed yet.

In spite of her caution, however, she was beginning to wonder what Éowyn looked like. Éomer had been extraordinarily handsome; Gúthwyn could not picture her sister being anything less than stunningly gorgeous, much like Arwen. Though, unlike Arwen, no feelings of envy washed over her as she imagined what Éowyn had grown up to be. She knew she would pale in comparison, but if only she could _see_ her sister she would be happy…

_You do not even know if she is alive!_ she told herself angrily. _You are likely getting your hopes up for nothing!_

But was it so impossible that her sister was perfectly fine, living in Meduseld? She had thought Éomer dead; Éomer had thought _her_ dead; both of them, however, breathed and drank and ate as anyone else in Middle-earth did.

Suddenly, Gúthwyn became aware that Aragorn had stopped, some feet ahead of her. Legolas was with him, and the two of them were conversing in hushed Elvish. Their bodies were tense. She did not have to wait long to find out why: Glancing to her left, she saw a hooded and cloaked figure striding towards them, their motions swift despite the staff they carried and the bent shape of their back.

She did not have time to panic before Legolas whispered, "The White Wizard approaches."

His bow was already in his hands, nocked and ready to be fired. Gimli was clutching the handle of his axe, shifting back and forth nervously. They were not turned away from Saruman, but neither were they facing him.

"Do not let him speak," Aragorn cautioned in a low voice, his fingers curling about the hilt of his sword. "He will put a spell on us."

Gúthwyn knew all too well the power Saruman held over them, even if he were weaponless—as she was. Frantically, she realized that her own sword was still with Aragorn; a vulnerable feeling overwhelmed her, one that she did not like at all. _I will have to use my fists,_ she thought disbelievingly. This had to be one of the greater jests in the history of Middle-earth.

Yet there was no time to dwell on this, for Saruman had arrived. The four of them whirled around to meet him, their weapons withdrawn. Legolas shot an arrow, but no sooner had it taken flight than the White Wizard lifted up his staff. The arrow smoldered and burned, crumbling uselessly to the ground. Gúthwyn leapt forward, attempting to have more success, though she had not taken two steps before she felt an invisible barrier bar her from going any further.

All other efforts were futile. Gimli's axe was knocked to the side a second after he threw it. Aragorn had barely raised his sword when it glowed a bright red, making him cry out in pain and drop it. She saw nothing else after that, for a brilliant white light filled her eyes, so that she was nearly blinded by it.

"You are tracking the footsteps of two young Hobbits." Saruman's voice, terrible and great, entered her ears. For a moment she trembled, then frowned. There was something about him that seemed different…

"Where are they?" Aragorn yelled, moving forward slightly. His hand was still covering his eyes.

"They passed this way the day before yesterday," Saruman replied. The white light was not growing any less in its radiance. "They met someone that they did not expect. Does that comfort you?"

Now, more than ever, Gúthwyn knew that this was not the Saruman she had faced the wrath of at Isengard. She could not explain what it was, but something was off.

Aragorn seemed to have equal doubt. "Who are you?" he yelled.

Slowly, the light began to fade. As it did, Gúthwyn felt the restraint on her starting to ebb away. The four of them stared as the light died, revealing a familiar face with fiery eyes that were gazing seriously back at them…

Gandalf the Grey had risen again.


	7. Over the Plains

**The Rohan Pride Trilogy**

**Part Two: Reunions**

**Book One**

**By: WhiteLadyOfTroy**

**Summary:  
**Gúthwyn's mission has failed. Now that she is traveling with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to find the Hobbits, she finds herself being confronted with her past, as well as some painful experiences in the present.

**About the Trilogy:  
**I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. _The Fellowship of the Ring_ had two books within the text, as did _The Two Towers_ and _The Return of the King_. The only change I have made is the first part in my trilogy: Alone. That was divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where _The Fellowship of the Ring_ started. Reunions will be divided into two books.

**About Chapter Seven:  
**As always, I will be using a blend of both movie and book canon. Sorry for any confusion. Please correct me on anything that seems amiss, out-of-character, or non-canon. Just an advance warning: Lately, my chapters have been bouncing back and forth between extremely long or rather short.

**Chapter Seven**

"It cannot be," breathed Aragorn. Yet it was. Before them stood Gandalf the Grey—but no longer the Grey, as he was robed in pure white, and his hair was straighter. No small resemblance did he bear to Saruman, though Gúthwyn noticed that when his robes moved, they remained white, rather than befuddle the observer with an unexpected myriad of colors.

"Forgive me!" Legolas said, lowering his bow and sinking to his knees in reverence. With a similar expression of guilt and awe on his face, Gimli followed suit. "I mistook you for Saruman," the Elf continued.

Gúthwyn did not bow, but she was equally amazed by the sudden return of their old guide. Gandalf's keen gaze flicked onto her.

"I am Saruman," he replied, and Gimli looked up at him in confusion, "or, rather, Saruman as he should have been."

"You fell," Aragorn said, seeming as if he could only half-believe that which was before his eyes.

Gandalf nodded, and his face was grim. "Through fire, and water. On the lowest dungeon, on the highest peak I fought him: The Balrog of Morgoth."

Gúthwyn recalled the fiery spirit they had encountered in Moria, the one who had dragged Gandalf down with him into the abyss. She shivered, not liking to relive memories of that dark place. It had been as black as death in there, black as her three-day stay in Haldor's tent.

She became aware that Gandalf was still speaking, and hastened to listen to him. "…every day was as long as a life age on the earth. But it was not the end. I felt life in me again."

The others were gaping at him in wonder. It seemed that there were many surprises they had yet to uncover.

Gandalf continued. "I have been sent back until my task is done." With his staff in his hands, and his newly straightened posture, he appeared as a great king, but even more powerful than the Gondorians of old. Gúthwyn knew then that she would have no chance of escaping the Three Hunters to find the Ring. Her eyes hardened.

"Gandalf," Aragorn whispered, staring at his old friend with an odd expression on his face.

"Gandalf?" the wizard repeated. His gaze turned thoughtful. "Yes, that was what they used to call me."

She was suddenly feeling not so inclined to rejoice at Gandalf's arrival. Hammel and Haiweth were still in Mordor, and because of the wizard, she now had no chance of completing the task that would guarantee their freedom—and their lives. Her heart was pounding strangely, and for a moment she felt faint. She sat down on a boulder then, eliciting curious glances from the others, but could not speak in response.

"Gandalf," Gimli said at length. A broad grin was spreading across his face.

"I am Gandalf the White," Gandalf declared, "and I come back to you now at the turn of the tide."

He stepped lightly off the rock. "Come with me!" he said.

Aragorn and Gimli started to follow him as the wizard made to go back where they had come from, but Legolas held back: Gúthwyn still had not moved.

She could only look at him numbly as he said, "Gúthwyn, come."

Something stirred in her mind, and she tried to do as he bid, but her legs were not cooperating anymore.

Two hands were placed on her arms, pulling her up to her feet. "Are you alright?" he asked concernedly. Over his shoulder, she could see the others watching them. Aragorn was muttering something to Gandalf.

To her horror, she felt her eyes fill up with tears. Before Legolas' keen gaze could see them, she wrenched away, and nearly stumbled as she went to the wizard. "I am sorry," she apologized, and he looked at her with sharp eyes. It was easy to see what Aragorn had managed to tell him.

"Gúthwyn of Rohan," Gandalf murmured, and she watched him nervously. Yet he said merely, "Soon you will see your people again."

"We met an _éored_ while we were running through the plains," Aragorn replied as they began striding through the forest. Gúthwyn found herself working to keep the pace, especially as her muscles did not want to move; furthermore, her mind was mulling over Gandalf's words, which had been mysterious. Did that mean…? "Éomer—"

"Éomer, son of Éomund, the nephew of the king?" Gandalf interjected. Once more, his eyes flicked over to Gúthwyn.

"Yes," Aragorn confirmed. "It could be no other."

The trees they passed by were pressing in on them menacingly, but Gúthwyn was paying close attention to Gandalf's speech and did not heed them.

"So he has been exiled," the wizard was saying. "A grievous mistake, I fear, but there is nothing to be done about it."

She did not want to be reminded of her brother's banishment from Rohan.

Gandalf sighed. "One stage of your journey is over," he said, still pushing them at the same swift pace. "Another begins. War has come to Rohan, and we must ride to Edoras with all speed."

Gúthwyn suddenly choked, and drew in a painful breath. "E-Edoras?" she stuttered, praying that she had not heard him right.

"Yes," Gandalf confirmed; just behind him, Aragorn's head turned to glance at her strangely.

"Edoras?" Gimli repeated, sounding just as surprised as she was. "That is no short distance!"

Edoras… the place where she had grown up… Gúthwyn could not speak for shock. She had not seen the city for nearly eight years. For almost her whole life she had yearned to go back, with a keen desire greater than anything she had known, but now that it came to it, she did not wish to return. If indeed Éowyn was alive, then she would be forced to endure the torture of watching her sister and cousin from afar, never able to reveal herself. If she did, Théoden would know of all that had brought shame upon his house, and would cast her away.

"It goes ill with the king," Aragorn said then, as if he had read her musings.

"Yes, and it will not be easily cured," Gandalf replied, exhaling heavily.

"Éomer said his mind was poisoned." Gúthwyn had recovered long enough to voice a question that had been troubling the back of her thoughts since meeting the _éored._ "What does he mean by that?"

"You shall see when we get there," Gandalf answered. Gúthwyn felt a rush of impatience come over her. He must not have trusted her with such information; she was willing to bet that Aragorn knew all the tidings of her land, and that if Legolas and Gimli wished to know, they would be told as well.

"Then we have run all this way for nothing?" Gimli asked, sounding downtrodden and weary. "Are we to leave those poor Hobbits here in this horrid, dark, dank, tree-infested—"

He stopped short as a low rumble echoed through the forest. On either side of them, the trees seemed to be shifting angrily; some of their branches were turned towards the Dwarf. Gúthwyn glanced all around her, and shuddered. No wonder all of the women told their children that Fangorn was not a place to go near.

"I mean," Gimli stuttered, trying to fix his mistake, "charming, quite charming… forest."

"It was more than mere chance that brought Merry and Pippin to Fangorn," Gandalf said, seeming to take no heed of the irritated woods. "A great power has been sleeping here for many long years."

The air seemed to be getting thinner. Gúthwyn prayed that they would soon reach the outer boundaries of this forest, as she had no wish to tarry in here longer than necessary.

"The coming of Merry and Pippin," Gandalf continued, nimbly stepping over a rock, "will be like the falling of small stones that starts an avalanche in the mountains."

Gúthwyn did not understand what he meant by those words, and neither, apparently, did Aragorn. "In one thing you have not changed, my friend," the Ranger said now, leaning closer to Gandalf.

The wizard made an inquiring noise.

"You still speak in riddles."

Both of them chuckled at this, yet Gúthwyn still felt at a loss. _Learn to get used to it,_ she told herself. She highly doubted that the others would be telling her much, now that she was revealed to be a servant of the Enemy. It was what she deserved, she knew, but to be so isolated pained her heart—especially when memories of Borogor resurfaced.

"A thing is about to happen that has not happened since the Elder Days," Gandalf spoke than, jolting her out of her thoughts. "The Ents are going to wake up… and find that they are strong."

"The Ents?" Gúthwyn echoed in amazement. She had heard of the creatures, of course: Trees that walked and spoke like humans, although their speech was lengthy and confusing. Théoden, and sometimes Théodred, had told her of them, but as she grew older she stopped believing in their existence. It seemed that she had been proved wrong, once again.

"Yes," Gandalf replied, throwing her a quick glance. "Do not think that just because you learned of them from your mother that they are only legends of long ago!"

Gúthwyn remembered nothing of her mother, but she did not feel like correcting him.

"Strong?" Gimli was more preoccupied by the thought of trees arising as a force to be reckoned with. "Oh, that is good."

"So, stop your fretting, Master Dwarf!" Gandalf admonished him. "Merry and Pippin are quite safe."

Gúthwyn felt a small wave of relief coming over her, though it was minimal. At the moment, she was not especially partial to the Hobbits, who—despite their good natures and intents—had made her goal to free Hammel and Haiweth impossible. Nothing short of a miracle would save the children now.

"In fact," Gandalf continued, oblivious to her increasingly foul mood, "they are far safer than you are about to be!"

She wondered at his words. They were going to Edoras, which was admittedly not as easily defended as Helm's Deep or Dunharrow, the two strongholds of her people, but it was guarded by some of the most valiant warriors she had ever met. And how had Saruman poisoned Théoden's mind, if he was currently in Orthanc, ruling his slaves with a cruel and ruthless hand? There was something wrong in the Riddermark, something that she could not guess at. It left her with a deep feeling of unease.

At length, they emerged from Fangorn Forest. Gúthwyn breathed in the fresh air, exceedingly glad to be out of the stuffy woods. Then she remembered that they had no horses.

"Gandalf," Legolas began, "we sent the horses to the very place we now wish to go, as we thought we would have no need of them. It will be a weary walk!"

The wizard shook his head. "I shall not walk," he replied, lifting two of his fingers to his mouth. "Time presses."

With that, he gave a piercing whistle, one that resounded so keenly in Gúthwyn's ears that she stared open-mouthed at him. Thrice he did so, and as the last echoes of the third call were fading away, she saw upon the distant plains a gleaming white speck. It drew closer, and soon she could hear the thundering of hooves on the ground. Her eyes widened: Never before had she seen a horse move so swiftly, except for…

"That is one of the _Mearas_," Legolas said, as the brilliantly white creature halted in front of Gandalf. "Unless my eyes are cheated by some spell." It was a magnificent horse, with perfectly toned muscles; it was hardly out of breath from its run. As her eyes moved over it in wonder, she realized with a shock that she recognized him. He had belonged to her uncle, though no one had ever succeeded in riding him.

"Shadowfax," Gandalf murmured. "He is the lord of all horses, and has been my friend through many dangers."

"How did you…" she began, and the wizard turned to look at her. "No one has ever been able to mount him," she finished in awe, gazing at Shadowfax. "Not even the king himself."

"It was I who caught him," Gandalf answered, "though I will not go so far as to say that I tamed him. Nay, that feat has been accomplished by none."

"Does Théoden know you ride him?" she could not help but ask.

"Indeed. And he will not soon forget it," the wizard said. He looked grim.

At that moment, three more horses came into view over the plains. Gúthwyn's heart leaped as she saw Heorot galloping wildly towards her, even his fast pace nowhere near that of Shadowfax's. Hasufel and Arod were not far behind; when they arrived, they were greeted joyously by their owners.

"They must have met Shadowfax and followed him," Gúthwyn marveled, allowing Heorot to eagerly nuzzle her face. She pet the horse, leaning in close and whispering, "I missed you, my friend."

He whinnied in pleasure before stepping back and turning to the side so that she could mount him. Glancing back at Gandalf, she saw the wizard placing himself easily upon Shadowfax, with not even a saddle beneath him. She blinked; yet even Legolas would not have used one, if Gimli had not been with him.

As the Hunters got onto their horses, Gúthwyn followed suit, feeling much happier with Heorot below her. "Good boy," she murmured, stroking the mane, ecstatic to have him with her.

"And now," Gandalf said, "We ride to Edoras!"

With that, Shadowfax sprang forward. Heorot leapt after him, with Arod and Hasufel bringing up the rear. Like lightning they passed through the plains, their horses mere blurs in the still surroundings. Gúthwyn felt more exhilarated than she had ever been in her life, with the wind whipping her hair, scarves, and cloak wildly backwards. And when the day faded into night, she did not panic, but relished in the cold air slapping at her face. This was where she belonged—this was Rohan.


	8. Arrival At Edoras

**The Rohan Pride Trilogy**

**Part Two: Reunions**

**Book One**

**By: WhiteLadyOfTroy**

**Summary:  
**Gúthwyn's mission has failed. Now that she is traveling with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to find the Hobbits, she finds herself being confronted with her past, as well as some painful experiences in the present.

**About the Trilogy:  
**I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. _The Fellowship of the Ring_ had two books within the text, as did _The Two Towers_ and _The Return of the King_. The only change I have made is the first part in my trilogy: Alone. That was divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where _The Fellowship of the Ring_ started. Reunions will be divided into two books.

**About Chapter Eight:  
**As always, I will be using a blend of both movie and book canon. Sorry for any confusion. Please correct me on anything that seems amiss, out-of-character, or non-canon. Just an advance warning: Lately, my chapters have been bouncing back and forth between extremely long or rather short.

**Chapter Eight**

It was night in Rohan. The five of them had taken shelter beneath a large expanse of rocks, tired and worn after a long, hard day of riding. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli had fallen asleep nearly as soon as they made camp, but Gúthwyn could not do so. Her position was such that she was facing the East, and there was an ominous red glow visible, even here, from Mordor. The sight of it chilled her.

Gandalf also remained awake; she could see him standing vigilantly over the rest of them, though his gaze was turned to the disturbances in the Black Land. She wondered what was going on there. For almost a year, she had been away from it—almost a year that Hammel and Haiweth had been on their own. Soon, they would perish, unless the Valar themselves intervened.

Her calmness at the revelation of such thoughts did not mean that she no longer cared for them. But even if she had wanted to, she could not cry: Crying was weak, and pathetic. Instead, she wrapped the despair around her like another cloak, though it was more like a noose. Every day, it grew tighter and tighter.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Aragorn stirring from his pallet. Upon seeing Gandalf, he got to his feet and made his way over to the wizard. He did not notice that Gúthwyn was awake, for she had been lying down, and the scarves made it near impossible to tell whether her eyes were closed or not.

The two of them began speaking lowly, although she could hear every word of it. "Sauron fears you, Aragorn," Gandalf was saying. "He fears what you may become."

Aragorn was silent, and Gúthwyn did not understand how even the heir of Isildur could be cause of worry for the Dark Lord. Especially this Ranger, who was currently riding across the plains to Edoras, which was far from the reach of Mordor.

"He will use his puppet Saruman to destroy Rohan," Gandalf continued, and Gúthwyn felt her heart stop. "War is coming. Rohan must defend itself, and therein lies our first challenge, for Rohan is weak and ready to fall."

Her breaths were coming less evenly now. Ready to fall… What had happened in the seven years since she had left? Rohan had been strong, with only the occasional border attack to trouble them. The ambush that left her, Éowyn, and Éomer without parents had been the worst that the Riddermark had seen for many years. But now, Gandalf and Éomer spoke of Théoden's mind being swayed by Saruman; the wizard said that her beloved land was going to fall prey to the manipulations of Isengard's ruler.

So troubled were her thoughts that she only caught the last end of what Gandalf was telling Aragorn. "Frodo must finish this task alone."

She tensed ever so slightly, knowing that with him had gone her last chance of saving Hammel and Haiweth.

"He is not alone," Aragorn replied. "Sam went with him."

Gandalf seemed pleased. "Did he?" he asked. "Did he indeed? Good. Yes, very good."

She could see why the wizard was happy. Sam had always attended to Frodo, but their relationship was more than just a servant's to his master. The instincts of Sam were extraordinarily correct at times, and she knew it would most likely save the Ringbearer on several occasions.

"Gandalf," Aragorn muttered then, taking her out of her musings. "You have not said anything about Gúthwyn—from what I told you, have I done the right thing in keeping her alive?"

The wizard glanced at her quickly, then looked back at Aragorn. "You have said only that she was a servant of the Enemy, and that she was sent to take the Ring from Frodo. Yet now it is far beyond her reach. She will never get it, and it would be foolish to try. She knows this as well as you and I do."

Gúthwyn did not want to admit it, but his words stung at her more than the lash of a whip. They had struck at her with the cruel reality of what she had been trying to deny herself ever since she left Amon Hen.

"So you think she does not need to be killed?"

"No harm to the Quest will come from her," Gandalf replied. "She can remain alive. If you wish to question her more, then by all means do so."

Aragorn fell silent, withdrawing his pipe from his cloak. He began to smoke it, and soon Gúthwyn could see grey plumes of rising air about him.

"Though it seems to me," Gandalf said, "that you have asked her all that needs to be asked, and that she has answered all that needs to be answered."

"Perhaps," Aragorn murmured around the corner of his pipe. "Perhaps not. I suspect more about her will be revealed when we go to Edoras—Boromir said she was from there."

"Was she really?" Even in the semi-darkness, she saw his eyes widen. "Who was her family?"

Aragorn shrugged. "I have wondered that, myself, but she seems loth to speak of them."

"Maybe." The wizard then turned to where she lay. A sudden sinking feeling overturned her stomach. "Gúthwyn, come here."

She could do nothing else, and pretending to be asleep once more would get her nowhere. As she got up, she saw Aragorn's shoulders tense. He certainly had not known that she was listening in on their conversation.

"Tell me, Gúthwyn, how long have you been awake?" Gandalf asked her, though not unkindly, as she approached.

She folded her arms tightly. "I have not fallen asleep," she answered stiffly.

Aragorn's eyes narrowed. "Then, as you no doubt heard," he said bluntly, "we have been discussing your fate."

Her eyes traveled, just once, to her sword—it was still on the Ranger's belt. "You do not recall, then, my earlier words to you?"

He gave a grim laugh. "My slave or servant you are not, yet it is I who can take or give your life as I will."

"Peace, both of you," Gandalf said, and they were quelled. "So, Gúthwyn, is it true that you are from Edoras?"

"Yes," she replied, tensing. If the wizard was going to question her…

"Do you have family there?"

For a long moment, she looked at him. Unbidden, images of Éowyn and Éomer rose to her mind. She did not want to be pressed for answers that were too costly to give.

"In graves," she said at length, her voice terse and short.

Aragorn turned to her, and she saw that he regretted his harsh words from earlier. "I am sorry," he said.

Gúthwyn shrugged, unable to speak around the lump in her throat. In truth, when she had spoken, she had not been thinking of those in Rohan, but those in Mordor: Hammel, Haiweth, and Borogor. Her hands trembled as she remembered his arms around her… his face, leaning in close to whisper reassuringly that everything was going to be fine…

As her suddenly tear-filled eyes met Aragorn and Gandalf's, she could not stand it anymore. She turned and walked away.

* * *

"We are nearing Edoras!" Gandalf called, twisting slightly on Shadowfax to look back at them. Gúthwyn's fists clenched slightly as Heorot's hooves pounded over the plains, just behind the white horse. Early in the morning, Aragorn had awoken them, and they had started on the next leg of the journey. The day was nearly half gone, and she was beginning to recognize their surroundings. Wide expanses of fields, well trodden upon by countless horses… Majestic mountains rising in the distance…

Butterflies had taken up permanent residence in her stomach. She was constantly quivering in anticipation, despite the fact that if anyone figured out who she was, she would be brought immediately before Théoden. These concerns were tossed to the side as she wondered whether Éowyn was alive—if only she had thought to ask her brother! She hardly dared to hope that her sister lived, but if Éomer was well…

And then there was Théodred. She could be sure of a warm welcome from him, at least: Had he not taught her all the defense skills she knew? Was it not under his tutelage that she learned how to defeat the boys in wrestling matches fought on the dirt streets of Edoras? He would certainly not turn her away; she was sure of it. Curiosity wove its way into her thoughts. He was forty-one years old by now. Did he have a wife? Children?

Then Éowyn was almost twenty-four… Had she married? Before Gúthwyn had been taken, her sister never expressed any interest in men beyond their prowess on the training fields, but perhaps that had all changed. It made her wonder just how much she had missed, while she had been toiling away in Isengard and Mordor. She would find out for sure when they arrived at Edoras, but for now her mind was being tormented by the endless questions.

The sun was directly overhead when the four horses began to climb a long, sloping hill. Gúthwyn knew what lay beyond this feature. "Faster!" she urged Heorot on. He complied, the sight of the mountains instilling a wild joy in him. And then, before she had time to catch her bearings, before she had time to prepare herself for the return home, they had crested the hill, and Edoras lay in front of her.

Abruptly, she stopped, pulling on the reins. Gandalf and the others halted around her as she stared in awe at the city she had lived in almost her entire childhood. On the outside, it had not changed. The multiple wooden buildings were still there, resisting the fierce wind that constantly blew; at the top of the large hill was Meduseld. Her heart leaped as her gaze fell upon the gold-thatched roof, traveling down the massive wooden structure to where she knew guards were ceaselessly patrolling.

"Edoras," Gandalf said, his expression troubled, "and the Golden Hall Meduseld. There dwells Théoden, King of Rohan, whose mind is overthrown."

Her happy moment ended, Gúthwyn turned to the wizard. "What is wrong with him?" she demanded, a harsher tone entering her voice than even she expected.

"Saruman's hold over King Théoden is now very strong," Gandalf replied, not answering her question at all. But Aragorn was watching her closely, and so she said nothing. "Be careful what you say," the wizard cautioned them. "Do not look for welcome here."

With that, he nudged Shadowfax, and they were off again. As they drew nearer to Edoras, Gúthwyn began to realize that something was wrong. Not a sound could she hear, though normally the air was full of warriors practicing, the village people mingling on the streets, or the neighing of horses. Instead, an unnatural quiet hung over the place, as though the very mice were afraid to make a sound.

As they came upon the gates, even more misgivings entered her heart. The wooden barriers were thrown wide open, without any guards at their usual posts. _What is going on?_ she wondered in bewilderment. It was like the city was welcoming invaders with open arms.

Gandalf was riding through the gate when she saw, out of the corner of her eye, something dark coming towards them. Aragorn and Legolas glanced up also, and they watched as a green piece of fabric floated on a breeze to the ground, landing in a crumpled heap upon the grass. Gúthwyn's breath caught in her throat as she realized that it was a flag: The emblem of the Rohirrim, a galloping horse, was painted in white and gold on it.

She slowed Heorot to a stop, and dismounted. Without a word she went forward, picking up the banner and dusting it off. For reasons she could not explain, she felt as though she would cry at any moment. Tenderly she folded the flag, keeping it in her arms as she mounted again. Taking a deep breath, she rode in through the gates, her return home unheralded and unnoticed.

By all except two. Legolas had stopped Arod, waiting for her. He and Gimli watched as she rode into the city, their eyes flicking onto the banner and then back to her.

"Are you alright?" Legolas asked softly, when she had neared them.

Gúthwyn could not respond, and looked away.

The climb uphill to Meduseld was in more ways torturous than much of what Haldor had put her through. At least she had gotten used to him taking her to his bed every week; even the cold blade of his knife was familiar. But as they passed silent houses, she felt as though each sight was driving a spear farther into her heart. There were people outside, robed in dark garments, observing the strangers' passage silently, their faces grim and worn. A few narrowed their eyes as they passed; the atmosphere was hostile, and nothing like what she had been rejoicing to come back to.

Ahead of her, she saw Aragorn look up at Meduseld. She followed his gaze, and for a moment she could see no living soul on the broad landing above the stairs. Then she blinked, and her eyes focused on a slender figure, clad in a pure white gown. Golden hair tumbled about the woman's shoulders as she stared down at them; then, she turned and disappeared into the Golden Hall.

Gúthwyn's heart froze. Could it be—had she just seen—? _Ilúvatar,_ she prayed, tilting her head up to the heavens, _do not cruelly taunt me with images of my sister, if it is not she whom I look upon._

Her mind was reeling as they arrived at the steps leading into Meduseld. Numbly, she dismounted from Heorot, patting the horse absent-mindedly as she took several steadying breaths. Hastily, she checked to make sure that her scarves were firmly wrapped around her face. Then, under the curious glance of Legolas, she pulled the hood of Chalibeth's cloak firmly over her.

At a nod from Gandalf, the five of them began ascending the stairs. Gúthwyn looked back once, and saw a small group of men arriving to lead the horses away. They worked in utter silence, not even sighing or murmuring to the animals. A grim-faced man took the banner from Heorot's saddle, touching the fabric carefully before looking away. Once again, trepidation washed over her.

She turned back to face the doors of the Golden Hall. Every nerve in her body was screaming, jumping up and down and positively quivering in both excitement and anxiety. It was almost impossible to believe that, after over seven years, she had returned. She was home, she was in Rohan, and she was about to enter Meduseld. Part of her longed to cast the scarves and cloak away, to announce to all the people that she was not really dead, but she knew it could never be.

They had barely reached the landing when the doors burst open, and a small host of the royal guards strode out. Gúthwyn's eyes widened as she immediately recognized Háma, the only one of them who was not wearing a helmet. His red hair spilled out over his armor, the only vibrant thing in the vicinity. At the moment, his eyes were cautious as they swept over all of them, stopping at last on Gandalf.

"I cannot allow you before Théoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame," he said, a sigh entering his voice. For a moment he paused, and a terse expression crossed his face. "By order of… Gríma Wormtongue."

Gúthwyn could have slapped herself. How could she have forgotten? Chalibeth's words to her, years ago, echoed in her head. "_That man, that so-called 'councilor,'" her friend seethed, fists clenched and trembling with fury, "is a monster and a foul—"_

She had never finished the sentence, but in later years, Gúthwyn had come to understand why her friend could never speak of the Serpent. Her own hands curled into fists as she remembered Chalibeth's sobs as she recounted the tale, starting with her cleaning Saruman's office alone, and ending with her beneath Wormtongue's body, her pants in a heap on the floor.

Yet long before Chalibeth had trusted her enough to tell the story, Gúthwyn had realized that Gríma was the councilor of whom her friend spoke. Back then the revelation had troubled her, but as the years went on she had forgotten about it.

"That means you, as well." Háma's sharp voice echoed in her ears, jolting her out of her thoughts.

"I am sorry," she apologized, and then took her dagger from her belt and handed it to him. He looked askance at it.

"Your other weapons," he said, glaring at her distrustfully. She supposed her masked face did not help matters.

Pointing at Aragorn, who was just then giving another guard her sword, she replied, "He has that which I have not given you. This knife is all I have on me."

"Who are you?" he asked, his tone harsh and abrasive. "You come here dressed as a servant of the Enemy, and despite what others think, we do not allow them into our land, if it is in our power to prevent them."

When Gúthwyn responded, she was careful to eject a more feminine lilt to her voice. "I am Chalibeth of Gondor, my lord. I would no sooner serve the Enemy than die."

The lie was bold, especially as Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli looked at her with narrowed eyes, but Háma did not see them. His suspicious expression, however, did not change; rather, it increased as he turned to Gandalf.

"Your staff," he said.

"Oh, no," Gandalf replied, leaning on it as though weary. "You would not part an old man from his walking stick."

Háma sighed, but did not argue. Nodding slightly, he turned to lead them into the hall. Out of the corner of her eye, Gúthwyn saw the wizard give Aragorn the tiniest, briefest of winks.

Before they had entered Meduseld, Háma stopped, and gave a short bow. With that, he stood aside, allowing them to go forward. As the dark interior of the Golden Hall surrounded her, Gúthwyn knew immediately that something was very, very wrong in the Riddermark.


	9. Release

**The Rohan Pride Trilogy**

**Part Two: Reunions**

**Book One**

**By: WhiteLadyOfTroy**

**Summary:  
**Gúthwyn's mission has failed. Now that she is traveling with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to find the Hobbits, she finds herself being confronted with her past, as well as some painful experiences in the present.

**About the Trilogy:  
**I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. _The Fellowship of the Ring_ had two books within the text, as did _The Two Towers_ and _The Return of the King_. The only change I have made is the first part in my trilogy: Alone. That was divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where _The Fellowship of the Ring_ started. Reunions will be divided into two books.

**About Chapter Nine:  
**As always, I will be using a blend of both movie and book canon. Sorry for any confusion. Please correct me on anything that seems amiss, out-of-character, or non-canon. Just an advance warning: Lately, my chapters have been bouncing back and forth between extremely long or rather short.

**Chapter Nine**

Slowly, Gúthwyn's eyes adjusted to the dim light of the throne room. She could barely see the dais at the end, so dark was it. Immediately, her eyes flicked to the shadows on either side of her; amongst the pillars lurked small companies of black-clad men, glaring at them menacingly. Not one of them looked familiar, but brought unpleasantly to mind the guards that had tormented her and Chalibeth so long ago.

There was an ominous creaking noise, and Gúthwyn turned around to see the doors closing. There was now even less light than before, and she trembled nervously. This was not right. She had never felt this afraid, this edgy, in her own home before.

"The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King!" Gandalf called. He began moving forward, and Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Gúthwyn followed him. To her, it seemed as if they were an advancing army, about to lay siege on Théoden.

Her uncle… Squinting, she peered at the end of the hall. Gradually, as they drew closer, she could make out the throne. At first, she did not see the figure that sat on the seat, hunched over with years unnumbered, but when she did she nearly gasped. Seven years ago, Théoden had been a healthy man, admittedly a bit larger than most, but fit and able to wield a sword with the best. Now, she did not even recognize the person who ruled her lands.

His hair was grey and long, falling in tangles past his shoulders. Every inch of his skin was sagging with age, wrinkles and creases leaving no area smooth. The robes that he wore hung loosely about him, looking as though they had not been washed for months; he appeared to be drowning in them. His small eyes were dazed, and focused not on them, but on the man who was stooping beside the throne.

Gúthwyn felt the bile rising in her throat as she saw Gríma Wormtongue hovering over her uncle, whispering words to him that were no doubt laced with cunning and deceit. Unlike Théoden, the years had not changed him at all. He was still as crooked and bent as ever, his hair still greasy, one of his eyes still rounder and more diluted than the other. And as he straightened to glance at Gandalf, she saw a maniacal glee cross over his face. Hastily, he hissed something in Théoden's ear.

Her uncle stirred. "Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?"

Gúthwyn nearly gagged to hear his voice. Every word took him eternity to complete, draining the energy from him with each syllable. His speech was hoarse and rough, as if he had long lost the will to care about the authority he needed to exude.

All the while, she had been walking forward with Gandalf and the others. It did not escape her attention that the strange men were following them, their eyes heavy-lidded and not once looking in the direction of the king. Gríma noticed them as well, and said to Théoden, "A just question, my liege."

She had to repress the urge to slaughter the Serpent as he stood. "Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear," he called, stepping down off of the dais and starting to move towards Gandalf. "Láthspell I name him! Ill news is an ill guest."

As he spoke, he halted, not a foot away from the wizard. His wild eyes searched his opponent's back and forth, like a wolf examining the wounded deer.

"Be silent!" Gandalf barked, and the illusion was broken. "Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crude words with a witless worm."

Before Gríma could respond, Gandalf had thrust his staff between the two of them. Gúthwyn watched Wormtongue panic, his eyes darting to the men on either side of the hall as he started backing away. "His staff!" he groaned, sending a sharp glare to Háma. "I _told_ you to take the wizard's staff!"

By an unspoken command, the silent men raced forward, running for the visitors. Gúthwyn whirled around as one of them rushed to her, and delivered such a swift punch that he never saw it coming. He crashed to the ground, pressing his hands over his face; they were turning red.

Another man tried to attack her, but she fended him off after a few seconds. When he, too, had fallen, she had a few seconds' respite. More of the men were swarming out, attacking Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. Some were trying to get to Gandalf, who was continuing forward to the throne, his staff raised and his arms spread out, but every time they were thwarted by one of the Hunters.

Unexpectedly, she was grabbed from behind, and two arms were wrapped around her upper torso. With a cry, she reached up and took hold of their hands. Pulling downwards, she slithered under their arms at the same time, getting out of the grip before they were aware of what was happening. Due to the maneuver, her assailant had ended up doubled over, and before he could regain a more favorable stance she drove her knee up into his skull. He groaned and fell over; she kicked his head once more, just to make sure he could not get up again.

Her breathing slightly more ragged, Gúthwyn turned and looked around. All of Gríma's men were on the ground, with neither Aragorn, Legolas, nor Gimli hurt in any way. She started advancing forward with them, drawing close to Gandalf. The wizard was now before Théoden, who was pressed as far back into his chair as was possible.

"Théoden, son of Thengel," Gandalf boomed, his voice echoing even into the farthest reaches of the hall. "Too long have you sat in the shadows."

As her uncle grimaced, Gúthwyn saw Gimli lunge forward and stomp a heavy foot onto Gríma, who had been trying to get up from the floor.

"I would stay still if I were you," she heard him growl, and for a moment she wished that she had been in his place. She would have given the Serpent a lot more to think about than a boot on his chest.

Then her gaze went back to the wizard. "Harken to me," he was saying, holding his staff a little off the ground and extending a palm out to the king. "I release you from this spell."

When the words had left his lips, Gúthwyn felt a small wave of energy traveling through the hall, as though it, too, were being released from something. But for all the good it did Théoden, whom she could not believe was so rundown as he was, Gandalf might as well have not spoken.

For a long time, he simply laughed. The sound echoed terribly off the walls, and she nearly put her hands over her ears. Now, more than ever she was glad of her decision to remain in disguise.

"You have no power here," Théoden wheezed at last. She winced to hear his hoarse voice. "Gandalf the Grey!"

A split second later, Gúthwyn's eyes were dazzled as Gandalf removed the dark cloak he had been wearing. A burst of light spilled forth, brimming from its bonds, and Théoden's face contorted into shock; he let out a gasp.

"I will draw you, Saruman," Gandalf declared, drawing closer and raising his staff, "as poison is drawn from a wound."

He lifted the staff, and Théoden was slammed into the back of his throne. Despite her hatred for her uncle, who had abandoned her so carelessly to the mercy of the hunter, and thus Saruman—he had even suspected that she would be taken there, but had done nothing to stop it—Gúthwyn felt a trace of worry pass over her. What exactly was the wizard going to do?

Suddenly, a blur of white bolted into the hall, running for Théoden. Aragorn caught the woman and held her back. Long, golden hair flashed into Gúthwyn's eyes, and this time she did gasp as she watched Éowyn struggle against the Ranger's hold.

"Wait," Aragorn whispered, and her sister was quelled, staring anxiously up at Théoden. _Please…_ Gúthwyn found herself praying, ignoring the curious glance Legolas had sent her, _turn around. Let me see your face!_

But everyone in the room was watching Théoden as Gandalf advanced upon him. "If I go," the king hissed, clutching at the armrests of the throne, "Théoden dies!"

Once more, Gandalf sent him backwards with a wave of his staff. "You could not kill me, you will not kill him," he responded, his voice loud and clear.

"Rohan is mine!" her uncle growled. Gúthwyn watched him in shock, her mouth opening slightly. Never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined this.

"Be gone!" Gandalf retorted.

With a terrible roar, Théoden lunged forward. Gúthwyn stepped back in horror as the wizard reacted just as swiftly, raising his staff and thrusting it towards the king. An invisible power seemed to hit her uncle, and he froze. Then, he started sliding down in his chair.

Éowyn raced to him, her breathing uneven, and caught him just as he was about to fall. Gúthwyn watched her intently. Her sister was thin; the white gown clung to a small waist, though the arms were more muscular. She wondered if Éowyn had continued training, and become one of the shieldmaidens that were unique to the Rohirric culture. It was not unlikely.

Just then, before their very eyes Théoden appeared to change. His hair shortened, and the golden color she remembered came back to it. The wrinkled skin smoothed out, along with a simultaneous straightening of his posture. Looking somewhat bewildered, he glanced around him, and his eyes first fell upon Éowyn.

"I know your face," he murmured. Gúthwyn shifted impatiently. "Éowyn… Éowyn…"

"Breathe the free air again, my friend," Gandalf said.

Théoden gazed at him in surprise. "Gandalf?" he asked, sounding like someone who has just awoken from a dream. Gúthwyn watched her uncle, feeling a familiar, bitter hatred rising over her. This was the same man who had abandoned her to the hunter, who had let that man take her to Isengard without sending so much as a search party after her.

She saw the King look at his hands, flexing and curling the fingers.

"Your fingers would remember their old strength better if they grasped your sword," Gandalf suggested.

At that, Éowyn turned to face the rest of the hall. Gúthwyn did not move, but she was awestruck by how beautiful her sister had become. With the wide grin adorning her face at the healthy return of Théoden, she could not have been prettier. No envy came over Gúthwyn at the sight of her—yet now, she desperately wanted to be reunited with her. _Remember what is at stake,_ she sternly told herself.

To keep herself from staring, she glanced over at Gríma. The Serpent's eyes were fixated on her sister, and she saw a lustful gleam in them. Fury boiled within her; she started moving towards him. He did not see her, and as Gimli was preoccupied with the scene by the throne, he decided to attempt to escape. Slowly, he began sliding away from the Dwarf, even then still watching Éowyn relentlessly.

Gúthwyn bore down on him and sent a swift kick to his skull, causing him to crash back to the ground. Before he could do anything, she stomped her foot on his throat. He choked, vainly scrabbling at her boot; in punishment, she lifted her foot and slammed it down on his stomach. All of the air was taken from him, and she leaned in close to whisper, "If you move again, I shall kill you—and at this point, it will not take much to provoke me."

He stared up at her with wide, panicked eyes, and revulsion came over her. This man, who had mercilessly raped a twelve-year-old, and who had tried to do the same to her, was now writhing like a baby beneath her. "You disgust me," she snarled.

At that moment, a shadow fell over her. Gúthwyn glanced up, and nearly fainted.

"Stand aside," Théoden bade her, without showing the slightest sense of recognition.

Silently, she complied, noticing the long sword that Théoden now carried: Herugrim. This blade he now pointed at Gríma, who started scrambling to his feet.

"Get up!" Théoden ordered, a fiery tone in his voice that she had never heard before. As Gúthwyn gave him more room, she saw Gandalf, who was not far behind the king, and Éowyn, who was just after him. For a brief second, her sister glanced at her as she moved, and Gúthwyn was looking into dark blue eyes that were even then shadowed by sadness. Hastily, she broke the gaze, not wishing her emotions to betray her.

Turning her attention back to Gríma, she saw that the Serpent had gotten to his feet. Théoden did not hesitate before giving a second command. "Guards!" he called.

Háma and another man, whom Gúthwyn knew as Gamling, came forth. The faint glimpses of a grin were on both of their faces as they grabbed Wormtongue, starting to drag him through the hall.

"No, please!" Gúthwyn heard him cry pathetically as they went. "My lord, I am your most faithful servant—"

"Exile him from Rohan!" Théoden yelled, his booming voice easily overriding that of Gríma's. The crowd that had gathered in the hall was murmuring; like a funeral procession, they were trailing after Háma and Gamling. All of them made way for Théoden as he strode towards the doors, his sword firmly clenched in his left hand.

Gúthwyn followed him as well. Éowyn was right behind her, she knew, as were Legolas and Gimli. Aragorn was some ways ahead of them.

The doors were opened, sending a bright light streaming into the hall. Gúthwyn blinked, for a moment raising her hands protectively over her eyes. They were still clearing as she went outside and stood on the landing, looking down upon a scene that she thought she would never see the likes of.

Gríma was crawling down the stone steps, backing away from her uncle, who was moving toward him. The sunlight glinted off of his sword, and the glare went right into Wormtongue's eyes.

"I have only ever served you, my lord!" the Serpent was now saying, his greasy hair whipping at his face in the wind. She did not doubt there would be wet stains on it soon.

Beside her, Éowyn was standing, her body tense with loathing and hatred. Gúthwyn could read it as easily in her as she could read a letter; to be in such close proximity to her sister, and not even be able to reveal herself, was almost more than she could stand.

The village people were gathering in a crowd as Théoden scathingly replied, "Your witchcraft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast!"

"Send me not from your sight!" Gríma pleaded, the terror smothering him plainly written across his pale features.

With a great roar, Théoden raised his sword. Gríma squeezed his eyes shut, but just then Aragorn leaped forward.

"No, my lord!" he exclaimed as he took hold of her uncle's sword-arm. Gúthwyn gaped in open astonishment as he continued. "No, my lord. Let him go. Enough blood has been spilled on his account."

Gúthwyn heard a slight hiss from Éowyn, but no one said anything as Aragorn extended a hand to the Gríma. The eyes of the Ranger and the Serpent met for a brief instant, and then Wormtongue spat.

Aragorn withdrew his hand, and Gríma scrambled to his feet. "Get away from me!" he yelled as he plunged into the crowd of Rohirrim. They parted for him, and so Gríma Wormtongue left Rohan: In disgrace, humiliation, and failure. He was given a horse, which was far too good from him, and departed almost immediately. Few in the Mark ever saw him again.

Gúthwyn watched him go, her eyes narrowed. _Do not come back here,_ she warned him silently. _I, for one, will be far less lenient if you do._

"Hail Théoden King!"

The unexpected cry shook her out of her thoughts, and Gúthwyn blinked to see that it was Aragorn who had spoken. The people were already sinking to their knees, their heads bowed—yet still, no one rejoiced to see their king returned to full health. She wondered at this, for it seemed as if bottomless sorrow still covered Edoras like a relentless storm cloud.

It seemed Théoden was puzzled, as well. After Aragorn had kneeled down before him, he turned to gaze at Meduseld, his eyes scanning the people watching him from the battlements.

"Where is Théodred?" he asked suddenly. Gúthwyn started, looking all around her. Now she realized that she had not seen her cousin since she entered Edoras; he had not been with Éomer, so he should have been at the Golden Hall. Was he at the stables, unaware of what had happened to his father? "Where is my son?" Théoden continued, his eyes still searching.

"My lord," Éowyn spoke, and then she was walking down the stairs, going to where the King stood in confusion. "My lord, your son…"

Her voice lowered so that Gúthwyn could not hear it. But she saw the tears forming in her sister's eyes as she leaned forward to murmur the news gently into Théoden's ear. A sickening feeling started forming in her stomach. _No,_ she thought wildly. _No, it cannot be. It cannot be!_

Yet then, Théoden let out an agonized cry. "No!" he roared, such horror and wretchedness in his voice that Gúthwyn nearly felt sick. "No! _My son!_"

Tears were sliding down Éowyn's face as she stepped away and inclined her head. "It was six days ago, my lord," she said quietly.

Trembling, Gúthwyn turned to Legolas. He was watching the scene with a grim expression, but when he felt her eyes on him, he glanced at her. "Legolas," she whispered, unable to stop her voice from shaking. "Legolas, what happened?"

His gaze was filled with pity as he replied, "There was an ambush at the River Isen. The king's son was wounded, and when they brought him back, he only lasted a day before perishing."

All of the air left her lungs. She stepped backwards, her horrified eyes moving between a moaning Théoden and a somber Legolas. "No…"

Théodred. Théodred, the one who had taught her defense when no one else would, who had done so much for her, who had made time for his little cousin even in a whirlwind of training and politics, who had always treated her as an adult. Now he was dead, his body pale and cold like Borogor's, and she had never gotten the chance to say goodbye.

As the terrible realization came over her, she swayed, and felt her world go black.


	10. Cold Hands

**The Rohan Pride Trilogy**

**Part Two: Reunions**

**Book One**

**By: WhiteLadyOfTroy**

**Summary:  
**Gúthwyn's mission has failed. Now that she is traveling with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to find the Hobbits, she finds herself being confronted with her past, as well as some painful experiences in the present.

**About the Trilogy:  
**I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. _The Fellowship of the Ring_ had two books within the text, as did _The Two Towers_ and _The Return of the King_. The only change I have made is the first part in my trilogy: Alone. That was divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where _The Fellowship of the Ring_ started. Reunions will be divided into two books.

**About Chapter Ten:  
**As always, I will be using a blend of both movie and book canon. Sorry for any confusion. Please correct me on anything that seems amiss, out-of-character, or non-canon. Just an advance warning: Lately, my chapters have been bouncing back and forth between extremely long or rather short.

**Chapter Ten**

She awoke mere seconds later to find Legolas' arms keeping her from the ground, the blackness just beginning to recede from her vision. Abruptly she pulled away from him, cringing as his hands brushed against hers.

"Are you alright?" he asked her curiously, his deep blue eyes fixing her covered ones.

Gúthwyn took a deep, steadying breath, then glanced over at Théoden. His face was now calmer, though she could see a deep sorrow underlining it. He had not noticed her brief spell of dizziness; no one had, except for Aragorn, who was watching her with narrowed eyes.

_Théodred…_ she thought, and the familiar painful lump rose in her throat, accompanied by a sudden blur in her vision. But she could not show weakness—weakness only led to questions, and she was not ready to answer them.

Steeling herself to forget the countless hours her cousin had spent training her, and the way his eyes sparkled when he laughed, she took another step away from Legolas. "Yes," she muttered in response, turning to look at him. "I-I just lost my b-balance for a moment."

He clearly did not believe her, but neither did he press the issue, and for that she was grateful. It was hard enough to now see Théoden demanding to see his son; Éowyn, taking him by the arm and leading him up the stairs; the guards, silently parting to let them pass, their gazes troubled and saddened.

Gúthwyn turned to where the burial mounds were, whitened from the patches of _simbelmynë _that had decorated them for years unnumbered. Her cousin would soon be lying beneath a hill in a dark tomb, his armor and sword to rust and his body to decay. Tears angrily threatened to spill over, and she wiped them away, but just as swiftly they returned.

"Are you sure?" Legolas asked her then, sounding concerned. She looked up at him, trying to decipher the expression on his face: Was he inwardly mocking her? Yet there was nothing beyond pity, and that she could not stand.

"I am fine," she choked out, and then knew that she had to get away from him. "E-Excuse me."

Walking around him, she went down the steps, encountering Aragorn on his way up. "Where are you going?" he questioned, stepping in her path before she had a chance to go any farther.

"Stables," she said, fighting valiantly against the tears.

He stood aside, but she did not think it was her explanation that had made him move.

The crowds of people were beginning to disperse, going back to their homes with bowed heads and bent shoulders. Gúthwyn went past them all, heading for the stables as she had said she would. No one would be there, not with the recent events. She needed somewhere to be alone, somewhere she could find comfort.

At length, she pushed open the doors of the stables, taking a deep breath and trying to calm herself. Her eyes quickly scanned from wall to wall; the place was empty, except for the horses. Heorot was in the stall closest to her, and at the sight of him she felt the knot in her chest unloosen slightly. "Hello, my friend," she murmured, opening the door and stepping in beside him.

He looked at her, sniffing eagerly for food, but she had not brought anything. "I am sorry," she said, lightly stroking his mane. "Next time, I will have something for you."

The horse nuzzled her face in forgiveness, and at his touch she felt the sadness rising up to overwhelm her again. "Théodred is dead," she whispered, shaking. "I thought… I-I thought he would have a w-wife a-and children…"

Leaning against the wall, she buried her face in her hands. "He was supposed to be alive!" she cried, her shoulders heaving up and down. No tears fell from her eyes, but they were dangerously close to doing so.

How long she stayed there, she did not know. Before much time had passed she had slid to the ground, managing to find a clean patch of hay to huddle on. Heorot watched her curiously as she wrapped her arms around her legs, curling into a tight ball and resting her head on her knees. At least ten minutes went by that way, with her dull eyes watching the casual swishing of Heorot's tail, her mind too numb to think of Théodred's lifeless body.

At length, she gradually stood, stretching and gazing around her. Grief still hung heavily on her, but now her attentions were turned to the far end of the stables. There, Shadowfax stood, tossing his mane restlessly. His white coat gleamed against the dark walls, glistening as though recently attended to. She could see his eyes focusing on her, clearly trying to determine if she were a threat or not.

Curiosity got the better of her. She left Heorot's stall, approaching Shadowfax's much larger one with some trepidation. He intrigued her: She had never seen a horse of his like before, and when Théoden had owned him he had not permitted her to go near him. Now, she drew closer to the stall, only somewhat emboldened when he did not start whinnying in displeasure. As she cautiously stepped inside, he stared at her haughtily, yet remained in place.

"Shadowfax," she said quietly, hovering near the gate. His startlingly unblinking eyes never left hers, but she did not think they distrusted her.

Gúthwyn took a small step forward, then another tentative one when he did not move. She was quiet, for somehow she did not think the proud _Mearh_ would take well to the phrase 'good boy.' Shadowfax was silent as well, but she saw his eyes narrowing as she came within a few feet of him.

Her hand was slowly reaching out to touch his white coat when she heard the stable doors opening. Carefully, she lowered her hand, then turned around to see whom it was. Her heart froze: It was Legolas.

He was staring at her in surprise. "What are you doing?" he asked. In the dead quiet that hung between them, she could hear a fly buzzing around one of the horses.

"Nothing," she said at last, and exited Shadowfax's stall. "W-What do you want?"

"They are going to put Théodred to rest," he replied, his voice somber. Gúthwyn felt a small tremor run through her, and she did not move closer to him.

He stepped toward her. "Are you alright?" he inquired, for the third time that day. "Is—" Then his eyes widened, as if he had suddenly remembered something.

"What?" Her tone was perhaps unnecessarily harsh, but at the thought of Théodred's funeral, Gúthwyn found herself barely able to control her emotions.

"Your back," he said, and unconsciously her fingers reached behind her and felt the faintly raised outline of the wound Haldor had given her. A shudder went through her as she remembered their duel, but beyond that, he had not done much harm to her. The wound itself had stopped bleeding less than an hour later, and as of this morning, it was fast on its way to healing. It did not even hurt when she walked.

"It is fine," she said stiffly.

"Aragorn forgot to look at it," he responded. "You should speak to him; if it becomes infect—"

"It is fine," Gúthwyn repeated, cutting him off abruptly. Nothing would make her seek the Ranger's aid, most of all because her back was covered in scars. It meant more lies that she would have to give, and soon she would not be able to keep track of them.

"Have you bandaged it?" he asked, though he knew fully well the answer. She flushed.

"I said, it is fine." Her tone of voice brooked no room for argument, but Legolas tried anyway.

"Gúthwyn, you—"

"Stop!" she cried, and he shut his mouth. "I do not know why you care," she continued, at last moving closer to him so she could leave the stables, "but I am fine. The wound is getting better. I am fine!"

Before he could say anything, she shouldered her way past him and went outside, stopping and taking a brief second to compose herself. With a deep breath, she picked up her pace, now heading for the burial mounds and hoping that Legolas would wait before following her. A great score of people were already walking towards her destination; now, she understood why they all wore dark clothing. They had been in silent mourning for the prince the entire week, yet the king had not even noticed that it was his own son they grieved for.

Another wave of anger came over her as she spotted her uncle, standing next to Éowyn and Gandalf beside the first mounds. Her sister had changed; now she, too, was dressed in black, with her hair tied up behind her and no trace of the earlier happiness upon her face. As Gúthwyn came up beside Aragorn, her sister glanced at her. Éowyn's eyes were both puzzled and narrowed. Gúthwyn knew she must have made a strange sight, with a black cloak and scarves covering her face—her appearance probably brought to mind one of the servants of the Enemy. Which, technically, she was, though not by choice.

All too soon, however, Éowyn looked away, and then Legolas arrived. He stopped next to Gúthwyn, who barely managed to repress a shiver at their closeness. To avoid any questions he might have been thinking of asking her, she gazed around the crowd, trying to figure out where her cousin was.

She did not have to wait long to find out, though: At that moment, a sudden hush fell over the people, and they hastily cleared a path. As she was jostled aside, nearly bumping into Legolas in the process, she saw a small host of guards walking slowly down the path to the mounds. They bore a funeral bier, upon which lay her cousin Théodred, prince of Rohan.

A small gasp escaped her lips, and she stood as one transfixed while his body passed her. His appearance had not changed much since she was taken, but it frightened her to see how pale he was. Though she knew he had been dead for nearly a week, she had not expected the white pallor of his skin, nor his cold, pale hands that were folded in the final resting position across his chest. A sprig of flowers and a long sword were clutched in them.

She felt herself trembling, and could not stop even when the crowd started moving after the bier. Her feet numbly directed her along, yet more than once she stumbled. Legolas steadied her each time, clearly sensing that something was wrong with her; such was her grief that she allowed him to. _Théodred…_ her heart called, going ahead of her to the bier. _Théodred, may you rest in peace._

The words were nowhere near all that she wished to say. As the guards brought Théodred before a burial mound, she saw the opened stone door and felt the tears coming to her eyes. This was cruelty beyond cruelty, to have a loved one perish and not be able to say goodbye, nor thank them for all they had selflessly done. _Théodred, why did you have to leave? Why were you taken away?_

And then, floating to her across the wind, came the sound of a mournful voice lifted up in song. Gúthwyn craned her neck, still fighting against the tears, to see her sister singing an old Rohirric farewell, one that was used whenever there was a funeral for an untimely death. She knew all of the words as well as she knew Beregil's poem.

_An evil death has set forth the noble warrior  
A song shall sing sorrowing minstrels  
__In Meduseld that he is no more,  
__To his lord dearest and kinsmen most beloved,  
__An evil death…_

Gúthwyn truly thought she would start crying then and there. All around her, people were doing so, the men shedding as many tears as the women. The guards were lowering Théodred, and they formed two lines down which they carefully passed his bier. She could not find the strength to wipe her eyes as her cousin's body disappeared into the tomb, never to be seen by her or anyone else again. Off to the side, Théoden was watching his son being swallowed by the darkness; grimmer was his face than she had ever observed before.

"Farewell," she whispered, and then Háma closed the stone door.

* * *

A cold, silent night lay over Rohan. The king and his household had retired to Meduseld. Those villagers who had been present at the funeral—nearly all of them—were now in their own homes, preparing to go to bed after a long day. Théodred lay in his tomb, stiff and unmoving. Only one person was outside, huddled against the wind that blew from the north.

Gúthwyn wrapped Borogor's cloak tightly around her, burying her face in her knees and trying to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks. For nearly half an hour she had been crouched against the outer wall of Meduseld, just a yard or two away from the doors. Every memory she had of Théodred was replaying mercilessly in her mind, starting at her first recollection of him—he had put her on a horse, and allowed her to hold the reins—and going to her fateful twelfth birthday, in which he had helped teach her how to use a sword.

It struck her as ironic that she had come to Rohan, expecting her cousin alive and safe, with her brother and sister each in a grave; instead, Théodred was the one in the tomb, while Éowyn and Éomer both walked the earth. It seemed as though the Valar were feeding her sweets with one hand and beating her with the other. Everything they sent her had two edges, two consequences, to it.

For a brief moment, she raised her head and gazed at the burial mounds, but then she could not stand the sight, and put her face in her hands. _Théodred,_ she thought, her face contorting in grief, _why could I not have spoken with you one last time?_

Such was her despair that she did not notice when Legolas stepped outside in search of her. Nor did she see him when he glanced over and saw her, curled in a tight ball against a pillar; neither did her ears mark his footsteps as he walked slowly over to her tiny, hunched over form. It was only when he spoke that she was aware of his presence.

"Gúthwyn?"

She started, but recognized his voice, and in terror did not look up. At such close quarters, he would be able to read her emotions as easily as Haldor could. If he realized that there were still tears in her eyes…

"Gúthwyn, what is it?"

_Please, leave me alone!_ she begged him silently, staring intently at her knees. Her pride and dignity were at stake.

Slowly, his hand moved under her chin. She stiffened, but he irresistibly lifted her head so that their eyes were level. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Her body was trembling uncontrollably; he still had not let go of her.

Her eyes were blurry when he asked, quietly and gently, "Do you weep for the king's son?"

The sound of her hand, slapping his face with such force that a red mark soon appeared, resounded in the air with a sharp _smack_. As he reeled away from her, Gúthwyn leapt to her feet, hastily drawing backwards.

"You know nothing of me," she snarled. "Do not try to interpret my mood, for you will always be wrong!"

Before he could say anything, she turned on her heel and stormed towards the doors of Meduseld, still shaking in fear and hatred.


	11. Ruined Pride

**The Rohan Pride Trilogy**

**Part Two: Reunions**

**Book One**

**By: WhiteLadyOfTroy**

**Summary:  
**Gúthwyn's mission has failed. Now that she is traveling with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to find the Hobbits, she finds herself being confronted with her past, as well as some painful experiences in the present.

**About the Trilogy:  
**I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. _The Fellowship of the Ring_ had two books within the text, as did _The Two Towers_ and _The Return of the King_. The only change I have made is the first part in my trilogy: Alone. That was divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where _The Fellowship of the Ring_ started. Reunions will be divided into two books.

**About Chapter Eleven:  
**As always, I will be using a blend of both movie and book canon. Sorry for any confusion. Please correct me on anything that seems amiss, out-of-character, or non-canon. Just an advance warning: Lately, my chapters have been bouncing back and forth between extremely long or rather short.

**Chapter Eleven**

When Gúthwyn entered the Golden Hall, the royal guards cast odd glances at her, but did not say anything. She supposed that, since she had come with Aragorn, she was granted her privacy and not subject to interrogation—for that, she was relieved. It might have been possible to lie her way out of such a situation, but inevitably they would have asked her to remove her scarves, as the sentinel at Rivendell had.

Her eyes soon fell upon Aragorn, who was sitting at a table with Gimli and watching Gandalf and Théoden. The wizard and the king were speaking in low voices, and she could not hear the words, but she had another source of information. She went over to where the Ranger was, taking a seat next to him. "What is going on?" she asked, wondering if he would answer.

For a moment he looked at her, and then replied, "Gandalf and the king are debating what to do about Saruman."

Gúthwyn was about to say something when a shadow fell over her. Éowyn had come to the table, bringing with her a bowl of soup.

"Thank you," Gúthwyn said, accepting it from her.

"Your welcome," her sister responded, though she could not conceal the curiosity that crossed over her face. She did not speak of it, however, and soon turned away.

Gúthwyn watched her as she crossed the room to attend to another table. Her heart twisted when she saw two children, sitting on one of the benches and eagerly consuming their stew. She could tell that they were about the same ages as Hammel and Haiweth, or perhaps a little older—the boy looked to be nine or ten, while the girl seemed to be six or so.

Tearing her eyes away from them for a few seconds, she leaned closer to Aragorn and whispered, "Who are the children?"

He took his pipe out before he spoke. "They came here tonight, alone and on horse. Their village has just suffered a raid from the Dunlendings."

Gúthwyn's eyes widened. So now, it seemed, Saruman was in the league with the rustic folk that had long ago fled the Riddermark in the days when it was still known as Calenardhon. It was the Eorlingas who had driven them from the place, as the lands now belonged to them. The Dunlendings had resisted the law, attacking the 'Strawheads' whenever they had a chance. For years uncounted they had had a grudge against the Rohirrim, though with the exception of the Long Winter, in which they had seized Meduseld for a brief time, nothing had come out of it.

At that moment, the doors opened, and when Gúthwyn twisted around she saw Legolas striding in. She flushed; anger, embarrassment, and fear colored her face as she wondered whether he would say anything to her. But he merely stood behind her and Aragorn, leaning against a pillar, and though he glanced at her once and twice he remained silent. She could see the faint pink imprint of a hand across his cheek.

"They had no warning," Éowyn said then, her voice clear and traveling through the room to where Théoden sat. The king looked at his niece, lines creasing his face with weariness and grief. "They were unarmed. Now the wild men are moving through the Westfold, burning as they go. Rick, cot, and tree."

Gúthwyn felt a raw surge of anger as she imagined the homes of her people being destroyed, the crops being ravaged, innocent lives taken and ruined. Then her fists clenched as the little girl asked, her voice high-pitched and frightened, "Where is Mama?"

Éowyn gently shushed the child and put a blanket around her shoulders. A second later, Gúthwyn had to look away, nearly unable to think straight as memories of Hammel and Haiweth washed over her.

Instead, she focused her eyes on Gandalf, who was saying to Théoden, "This is but a taste of the terror Saruman will unleash—all the more potent, for he is driven mad by fear of Sauron."

Gúthwyn shivered. Years ago, Saruman had driven _her_ mad. The cage was no longer the thing that terrified her the most, but sometimes she still had nightmares of it.

"Ride out and meet him, head on," Gandalf advised now, placing a hand on the throne's armrest. His body was taut with seriousness. "Draw him away from your men and children. You must fight."

If there was to be a battle, Gúthwyn decided, she would take part in it, regardless of the circumstances or chance of survival. Now that she had come all the way from slavery and darkness, after seven years' exile returning to her home, there was no chance that she would miss defending her people.

"You have two thousand good men," Aragorn said, "riding north as we speak. Éomer is loyal to you. His men will return and fight for the king."

Gúthwyn started at the mention of her brother, but Théoden stood up, and began moving down the hall towards them. She twitched nervously as he drew nearer. "They will be three hundred leagues from here by now," her uncle replied, frowning. "Éomer cannot help us."

Aragorn looked as though he wished to say something, but Théoden continued. "I know what it is you want of me, but I will not bring further death to my people. I will not risk open war."

Sighing, Aragorn took the pipe out of his mouth, propping his elbows on the table and meeting Théoden's gaze evenly. "Open war is upon you, whether you would risk it or not."

The king's eyes flashed dangerously, and he took another step closer. "When last I looked," he said, "Théoden, not Aragorn, was king of Rohan."

In order to prevent tensions rising any further, Gandalf interjected hastily, "Then what is the king's decision?"

For a long time, Gúthwyn watched her uncle silently weigh his options. It was beyond her to determine which course he would take. Perhaps they would go to one of the strongholds—Helm's Deep and Dunharrow could be easily defended. Or maybe Théoden would follow Gandalf's advice, and declare war on Saruman. Her soup was getting cold, long forgotten on the table.

At length, he sighed. The eyes of everyone in the Golden Hall were on him. Éowyn's were narrowed intently. "We shall evacuate the city," he declared, and a sudden muttering raced through Meduseld. Gúthwyn leaned towards the king, every fiber of her mind focused on her uncle's next words. "We will go to Helm's Deep, and perhaps Saruman will think twice before attacking us there. The Hornburg has never fallen to any invaders—there, we can wait in safety."

Háma, who had been near the doors, stepped forward. "When do you wish to leave, my lord?" he asked.

Théoden hesitated for a few seconds before answering, "Tomorrow morning."

Gandalf turned and left the Golden Hall. None of the guards questioned him as he passed through the doors, and he did not say anything to them. Théoden watched him go, looking apprehensive.

Gúthwyn straightened. "Are we going with them?" she whispered to Aragorn. He glanced at her, and nodded.

She stiffened in anticipation. The fortress of Hornburg she had never seen before; this would be something to look forward to. Although she would have to be even more careful to conceal her identity, it would be worth it to enter the famed stronghold. She took another look at her sister to see how she had reacted to the news. Éowyn was standing perfectly still, one hand on the girl's shoulder; her face was slightly surprised.

Knowing that it would be suspicious if she stared, Gúthwyn returned her attentions to her soup. She had not eaten since the day before, and despite the fact that she was not hungry, she did not want to become weak and collapse. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli had already seen enough of her frailty.

Angrily, she dug her spoon into the stew, and had a mouthful. It was lukewarm, as she had not started it immediately, but it was better than most of what she had been living off of. Only a few swallows later, however, and she felt a familiar queasy feeling troubling her stomach. Taking the spoon out of her mouth, she was putting it down when the utensil slipped out of her hand, falling with a clattering sound to the floor.

Wincing, she bent to pick it up. On the way down, she saw a flash of gold. Her necklace was dangling out from beneath her shirt, where she normally kept it hidden from sight. Hastily, half in a panic, she stuffed it back in her tunic, praying that no one had seen her. She looked around carefully. Her heart plummeted when her eyes focused on Éowyn, who was gaping at her in utter shock and disbelief.

For a brief instant that seemed like eternity, the two sisters stared at each other. Éowyn broke it first, drawing a shaky breath and turning away. Gúthwyn watched in horror as she walked unsteadily to Théoden, put a hand on his shoulder, and started whispering in his ear.

Quiet, yet violent curses erupted from Gúthwyn's lips as she put the now forgotten spoon on the table. Both Gimli and Aragorn blinked, but neither noticed that anything else unusual was happening.

_Of all the foolish, stupid things I could have done!_ Gúthwyn berated herself as Théoden's eyes narrowed in her direction, both stunned and guarded. She could not believe she had been so careless. Now she would be subject to an interrogation—her uncle was already making his way over, followed by Éowyn—and it would be near impossible to escape without revealing who she was.

_But you have to,_ she told herself sternly. Théoden's shadow fell on the table, and both Aragorn and Gimli glanced at him. She did not turn around to see what Legolas was doing. _If you do not, then all that you have done will come into the light. Both he and Éowyn will turn you away, and no one will be able to look you in the face again._

"Stranger," Théoden addressed her.

_You are a pathetic, useless whore!_ Haldor's words echoed in her mind. _Your uncle let that hunter take you! He sat on his throne while you cleaned Saruman's floors and fed his Wargs and forged his weapons; he sat on his throne while you were in the cage! And where do you think he was when you were taken to Mordor, when you slept in my bed, when Borogor died? He does not want you!_

Gúthwyn felt a rush of hatred coursing through her veins. There was no way out of this situation, but she would give Théoden something to remember for the rest of his miserable life. She would let him know exactly what he had done to his niece.

"Do you wish to speak with me, my lord?" she inquired at last, barely managing to conceal the anger in her voice.

He nodded, and sat down on the bench beside Gimli. Éowyn hung back a few yards away, though her eyes were fixated on the two of them.

"May I see your necklace?" her uncle asked. Aragorn looked at her, though he did not say anything.

Slowly, Gúthwyn reached around her neck and undid the clasp of the chain, managing not to dislodge the hood of her cloak in the process. When the jewelry, inlaid with three sapphire spheres and identical in every way to that of Éowyn's, was in her hand, she put it on the table before Théoden.

Gimli leaned forward, but her uncle picked it up and examined it thoroughly. His eyes grew wide.

"Who are you?" His tone was harsh, and it grated on her nerves.

"You may call me Chalibeth, my lord," she replied. Puzzled politeness was the key—for now.

"Where did you get this?"

Gúthwyn paused, unsure of how to answer the question. The seconds passed.

"Do not make me repeat myself again. Where did you get this?"

"Why is it of any importance, my lord?" she questioned, her heart racing. Théoden slammed his fist down on the table, causing some of her soup to spill.

"Answer the question!" he barked. Some of the people nearby were beginning to stare.

"I did not steal it, if that is what you are implying," she retorted, allowing herself to become indignant.

Théoden's fist curled around the necklace. "This belonged to my niece," he said, his voice shaking. "Her name—"

Gúthwyn held up a hand to stop him. "I have seen her," she responded coldly.

Éowyn took a step forward, and Théoden's eyes became even wider.

"Where?" he demanded. Some of the guards were starting to look over at them now. Gúthwyn did not want this attention, but it was better if she was to humiliate her uncle thoroughly.

She pretended to think. "Dark hair," she said at last, "with blue eyes?"

Théoden nodded, his body tensing. Aragorn was watching her keenly.

"Small," she continued, "but strong, and fiery of spirit?" In the days of old she had been proud, but those were long gone.

Once again, her uncle nodded.

"That is well," Éowyn said suddenly, and they turned to look at her. She was closer than before, and Gúthwyn could almost feel the impatience radiating from her. "But where is she?"

Her voice rose through the hall, attracting the attention of the rest of the guards. Now, nearly everyone in Meduseld was listening to the conversation. Comprehension was dawning on some of their faces; they became straighter, and stiffer.

"I saw her," Gúthwyn said at length, "in Isengard."

For the second time that night, mutterings raced around the hall, though these were horrified and grief-filled. Théoden looked as though he could barely speak.

"I-Isengard?" he choked, his face turning pale.

"Isengard," she confirmed, enjoying the sight of him squirming at her words. "A slave she was. Foolish girl. Sickeningly naïve."

"Be careful what you say," Théoden hissed. "Your speech is not winning you my favor."

She snorted. "And what good is your favor anymore, _my lord?_" she asked scathingly. "What did it do for your niece?"

Gimli was watching their debate, his eyes darting back and forth between the two of them. He looked as if he could hardly believe what he was hearing. Aragorn's eyes were narrowed dangerously.

"Explain yourself," Théoden ordered, the fury in his eyes seeking to pin her to the table. She ignored it.

"You know of what I speak," she replied bitingly. "But if you would have your memory refreshed, let me ask you this: Where were you when your niece was being taken to Isengard? Where were the search parties? While the hunter dragged her through the lands like a _beast_, what were you doing?"

"How dare you?" Théoden leaped to his feet. He towered over her, his shadow darkening her vision. Out of the corners of her eyes, Gúthwyn saw the guards drawing nearer. "How dare you? You know nothing of what happened that day!"

Gúthwyn stood as well, a blind rage swallowing her. "You know nothing of your niece!" she retorted. "You sat idly on your throne, relying on the council of that serpent while she was on her hands and knees, washing the floors of your enemy!"

If the table had not been between them, she did not doubt that Théoden would have struck her. Aragorn appeared to have half a mind to; she was also aware that Legolas was only a few feet behind her.

"Where is she?" No one had to strain to hear their argument now—he was almost shouting. "What have you done with her?"

She could not help but laugh, though it was infused with loathing. "What have _I_ done?" she asked. "The question you need to ask yourself is what _you_ have done."

"Tell me now," Théoden commanded, "or I swear I shall have you killed!" To emphasize his point, the guards all took a step forward.

Gúthwyn stood her ground. "Having me killed," she replied, "will not give you any information about your niece."

Théoden's face was slowly turning red. "Where is she?" he spat, a hand curling around the hilt of his sword.

She eyed it for a moment, and though she doubted he could harm her after years of inactivity, she did not forget the guards now beginning to form a wide circle around them. Nor her own sister, whom she could not imagine as anything short of formidable with a blade. And that was to say nothing of Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. "After four years at Isengard," she said, "she was taken to Mordor."

A collective intake of breath was heard; Éowyn stumbled backwards, and had to lean heavily on a pillar for balance. Théoden reeled. "Mordor?" he gasped, taking a step away from her and swaying on his feet. Aragorn twisted around, and his gaze was more piercing than anything she had endured from him. She had a feeling that his mind was working to put two and two together. It would not be long now.

"Mordor," Gúthwyn said, and leaned forward. "Once again, Théoden, I ask you where you were while this happened to your niece!"

He started to say something, but she cut him off. "Where were you when the Uruks drove her across the lands, whipping her at their leisure? Where were you when the Black Gates opened and closed, shutting her in the Dark Lord's realm for eternity, never to see the light of day again?"

Her uncle opened his mouth, but she could not have him interrupt her. Slowly but surely, she felt control of her emotions slipping from her. "Where were you when she was tortured? Where were you when she watched innocent men die for causes beyond their understanding?"

Once more, Théoden tried to speak; she could not have stopped now even if she wanted to. "You were sitting on your throne!" she screamed at him, pounding a fist on the table. "Where were you when she begged for her own life? She is pathetic! She is less than that _dog_ lying upon your hearth!" As she pointed to the animal, her arm shook violently. "She is dead to you! You might as well have killed her! Do you know how many years she waited for you to rescue her? How she stupidly thought that you cared enough about your own niece to try and find her?"

Everyone in the hall was staring at her in horror. Unbeknownst to them, her eyes were beginning to blur with tears. _What are you doing?_ she yelled at herself. _You are not supposed to be this weak!_

"I—"

"You fool!" she shouted at him. "You abandoned her! You made her what she is now: Nothing more than a pathetic, disgusting, worthless _whore!_"

In her rage and fury, she used the exact same words Haldor had yelled at her on Amon Hen. Through the tears distorting her vision, she saw Aragorn stand up; at that moment, however, one of the guards ran at her.

She jumped over the bench and ducked as he went to punch her. Before he knew what was going on, she reached up, grabbed his arm, and delivered a solid strike to his chin—the only area that was not covered by his helmet. Such force did she deliver that he fell to the ground, several cracking noises emanating from his jaw. Though it was not her wish to harm the guards, she had no choice as the rest of them attacked her.

For almost a minute, she fought them. Two more were soon lying on the floor, as she knew all the weak spots in their armor and used the knowledge to her advantage. Fear that they would overwhelm her and reveal who she was propelled her every motion. But she could not hope to keep this up for long—there were other people closing in on them, including her sister.

Gúthwyn had just sent a third guard stumbling away from her when a steel fist slammed into her back. She cried out in agony, hardly able to move from the pain. All of her wounds were screaming. Sensing an advantage, the fist hit her again. This time, she crumbled to the ground, unable to do anything as two arms grabbed her own and pinned them behind her back.

She struggled uselessly in the guard's grasp. Above her, Háma's voice said, "My lord!"

As Théoden approached her, his face twisted in disgust and revulsion, she tried to twist away from Háma, but he held her tightly. "Let us now see who you are," her uncle snarled, crouching down before her.

He removed the hood of her cloak; as she squirmed futilely, he started on her scarves. The Golden Hall was silent, everyone staring at their king and the subdued stranger who had brought such terrible news to Meduseld. Gúthwyn shook in fear when the fabric covering her mouth was removed. So far, he had not recognized her, but it was only a matter of time… only a matter of time until he would know all that she had done.

And then the last scarf was off, and as the black fabric fluttered to the ground Gúthwyn could not look her uncle in the face. The shame that had been brought upon her, chasing away the Rohirric pride until it had buried itself, shredded and torn, in a dingy grave, overwhelmed her with self-hatred until she turned her head away from Théoden. She felt as though she would die of humiliation.

He was touching her face, moving his fingers over the scar; Gúthwyn cringed, and shrunk away from his hands. She despised herself for being so pathetic, and loathed Théoden even more for abandoning her.

"Shall we bring her to the dungeons, my lord?" Háma questioned.

Her uncle opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. His eyes were fixed on hers, and she winced: The damage had been done. The face looking at her was pale, accompanied by a chest that was heaving unsteadily up and down. Over Théoden's shoulder, she saw Éowyn take a step forward. A thousand emotions were threatening to swallow her at once, and she was certain that even the least of them were displayed in her expression.

"Gúthwyn?" her uncle gasped at last, anxiously scanning her face for confirmation.

"Are you proud of what you have done?" she whispered, but her words were covered by the deafening uproar that arose in the hall.


	12. Painful Memories

**The Rohan Pride Trilogy**

**Part Two: Reunions**

**Book One**

**By: WhiteLadyOfTroy**

**Summary:  
**Gúthwyn's mission has failed. Now that she is traveling with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to find the Hobbits, she finds herself being confronted with her past, as well as some painful experiences in the present.

**About the Trilogy:  
**I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. _The Fellowship of the Ring_ had two books within the text, as did _The Two Towers_ and _The Return of the King_. The only change I have made is the first part in my trilogy: Alone. That was divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where _The Fellowship of the Ring_ started. Reunions will be divided into two books.

**About Chapter Twelve:  
**As always, I will be using a blend of both movie and book canon. Sorry for any confusion. Please correct me on anything that seems amiss, out-of-character, or non-canon. Just an advance warning: Lately, my chapters have been bouncing back and forth between extremely long or rather short.

**Chapter Twelve**

"Release her!" Théoden ordered at once, his voice shaking and barely able to be heard above the chaos. Gúthwyn found herself being pulled to her feet, simultaneously enveloped in a tight embrace. Her uncle was whispering her name, over and over again; she could not believe he had the nerve to pretend to be so relieved.

Her hands shot out and pushed him away from her. As they separated, his shocked face only served to make her angrier. "Did you not listen to a word I just said?" she hissed, backing up.

A silence fell upon the hall. Everyone was staring at her; Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli all looked as dumbstruck as they had when Haldor had revealed her mission. Only Aragorn appeared to have half suspected it.

"Gúthwyn, I…" Théoden trailed off, at a loss for words. Behind him, she saw Éowyn press a hand over her mouth.

"No," Gúthwyn whispered, and to her horror felt the tears returning to her eyes. "Why did you abandon me?" She trembled as she spoke. "Why did no one try to find me? I thought someone…" Her lips were moving soundlessly; she could not finish the sentence. Legolas was watching her pityingly.

"He felled our horses," Théoden replied quietly, "just a few minutes after he shot you. We could not leave—by the time the search parties found us, it was near midnight."

"Then what about the next day?" she demanded, folding her arms across her stomach. "We saw no one the entire journey!"

Théoden's shoulders slumped. "Now, more than ever, I rue the day I started listening to Gríma Wormtongue," he said tiredly. Guilt was written across his entire face, as well as anger. "When we returned, he was there, and immediately cautioned against sending out the men. He said that if the hunter found out who you were, he might torture or kill you."

"That is a foolish excuse," she snapped, stung that this was the best her uncle was able to come up with. "Anyone could see through that."

"In our grief, it seemed enough to us," he replied wearily.

"You _believed_ him?" Gúthwyn took a step back and gaped at him in repulsion and disbelief.

Théoden nodded miserably, and she felt a surge of rage engulfing her. "You lie!" she cried, glaring at him. "You mean to say that you never cared for me, and left me to the mercy of that hunter!"

She did not even know why her uncle would abruptly decide that she was not worthy of his affection, but how many times had Haldor told her that Théoden no longer loved her? He spoke the truth: No one would let their niece be taken away without attempting to get her back. The king had done nothing.

Gúthwyn's fists clenched, and she was about to leave—where she would go, she knew not—when the guard whose jaw she had fractured suddenly sank to his knees before her.

Baffled, she stared at him, and he removed his helmet. "That is the second time you have broken part of this face, my lady, but I shall say naught of it."

For a moment, she could hardly believe her eyes. "Tun?" she gasped. Her childhood friend of old was gazing up at her; his familiar face, with the nose slightly crooked, was framed by golden hair that was longer than when she had last seen it, and he had grown taller and more muscular, but it was undoubtedly him.

He looked pleased that she remembered him, and nodded. "Indeed, it is I," he replied. "It has been years since my heart felt this glad—nearly eight, to be precise."

Gúthwyn flushed, not knowing what to say. She still did not believe Théoden's story, but a small, hopeful part of her was beginning to rise, aided by the appearance of Tun. The king had always cherished her as his own daughter, and it was difficult to imagine him turning his back on her when she was in need.

_But he did,_ she reminded herself, and glanced back at Tun.

"Gúthwyn," he said, withdrawing his sword from its sheathe and holding it in both hands. She blinked, wondering what he was doing. "I swear my service to you, as your champion if you will it, in living or dying, health or illness, peace or war, until death take me or you should send me away. Yet only if you wish to have it. Do you accept my offer, or reject it? My limbs know all too well that you have no need of protection, but I will eagerly defend you—with my life, if needs be. What say you?"

Gúthwyn could barely speak. She was not sure what to do; doubt assailed her, driving at the chinks in the walls she had built around her mind. Tun's offer was genuine… was it impossible that Théoden's explanation had been as well? Her body trembled in confusion, and wildly she looked around her for a solution. Éowyn was watching her, looking hopeful and at the same time worried; Théoden stood rigid, every limb in his body taut with suspense; Aragorn and Gimli were observing the scene intently, the Ranger's pipe forgotten on the table beside him; then her eyes fell on Legolas.

He was the only one who had not moved when she had lost control of her emotions. Everything about his posture said that nothing could have been of less importance to him, but she saw the expression on his face and knew that he was just as focused on the situation as the others. There was pity, and sadness as well as surprise. Only for a few seconds did their eyes meet, but in that time she made her choice.

"I accept," she told Tun, facing him once more and speaking her words clearly, so that all throughout the throne room could hear her.

As Tun rose to his feet and sheathed his sword, a storm of wild cheering and exuberance nearly lifted the roof of Meduseld. Théoden stepped forward and embraced her tightly; after a brief hesitation, she carefully returned the gesture.

"I can hardly believe that you are here," Théoden murmured, his speech obstructed by sobs that were shaking his chest. Gúthwyn realized with a start that her uncle was crying—_crying_. "It seems almost too good to be true. Gúthwyn…"

She let him hug her, not wishing to deny him so small a thing, but when he pulled away from her she could not help but feel relieved. Tears were shining on his cheeks. "A great darkness has been lifted from me," he said. He spoke not just for himself, but also for the people: She was finding herself surrounded by a mass of broad grins, all of which she recognized from the days of her youth.

Yet she remained silent, for Théoden had moved aside, and Éowyn was standing before her. For a long time, the two sisters simply looked at each other.

"I thought you were dead!" Gúthwyn finally choked out, and all but flung herself at Éowyn. She felt strong arms wrap themselves around her; it was then that she almost started sobbing.

"And it was I who believed you had perished," Éowyn whispered. To her amazement, Gúthwyn noticed that her sister, like Théoden, was crying. Her tears were silent, but there all the same.

After over seven years, Gúthwyn had been reunited with her family, and with her people.

* * *

It was nearly midnight, though Gúthwyn knew she would not be going to bed anytime soon. Meduseld was relatively quiet; all of the guards had retired until the next day, with the exception of two night sentinels that stood outside the doors. She was now sitting at one of the tables, with her uncle and sister on either side of her. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli were on the opposite end. Gandalf had come back to the Golden Hall recently, and was leaning against a pillar, seemingly having no interest in the conversation.

"I still do not know how this… this miracle is possible," Théoden was saying, and she turned to him. His face was bewildered, and he kept running his fingers through his hair. "How did you… Gúthwyn, what happened?"

She stiffened. This was what she had been afraid of—no matter how he felt now, once her uncle had heard of all she had done, he would be disgusted with her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Aragorn standing up. "We should leave," he said, gesturing to Legolas and Gimli. "I would not wish to intrude on your privacy."

The three of them were about to leave when Gúthwyn suddenly exclaimed, "Wait!"

For a moment, everyone looked at her, and she took a deep breath before continuing. "Y-You deserve to hear this… especially Legolas."

The Elf glanced at her, and she shivered under his gaze, but was equally aware that she owed him at least some explanation for her behavior. As he, Aragorn, and Gimli sat back down, she inhaled and exhaled deeply. She would not tell the entire story—only Éowyn would she trust enough to do that. But there were some things they needed to know…

Éowyn took her hand and squeezed it, giving her the strength to begin. "For almost a week," Gúthwyn said, speaking to the table, "the hunter brought me across the plains. He healed my wound, but kept giving me something that made me disoriented; I could not see anything around me for hours at a time."

"Did he harm you?" Théoden asked, anger underlying his words. Gúthwyn looked at him and frowned, trying to remember.

"He had a knife… He cut me whenever I disobeyed him."

She could see Théoden's fists tightening as she continued, her face now flushing in shame. "For almost the entire journey, he tied me to his horse, and made me run after him."

Briefly, she glanced at Aragorn, but she could not long endure the pity in his eyes.

"And he took you to Isengard?" Théoden asked, his breathing uneven.

Gúthwyn nodded. "Life there was not so bad," she replied, comparing it in her mind to the Black Land. "I was with a group of other slaves, all of whom were kind to me. We were given tasks such as forging armor—"

"Armor?" Aragorn and Théoden echoed simultaneously, their faces troubled. "Did you ever see his army?" Théoden added.

"No," Gúthwyn answered, shaking his head. "I think the armor was for the Uruk-hai, who started appearing the year that I left."

Éowyn's worried eyes met hers, and she had another thought. "I met Gríma Wormtongue there," she said, looking at Théoden to see his reaction. He tensed, and Éowyn's expression was suddenly murderous.

As Gúthwyn's mind quickly reviewed her meeting with the Serpent, she realized that she would have to tell what he had done to her—what he had almost done to her. Unconsciously, she trembled before speaking. "I was cleaning Saruman's office," she began, now recalling the tomb-like silence that hung over the entire place, and cringing. "He came up behind me…" She wrapped her arms around herself, remembering his pale eyes, and how he had touched her shoulder. "He asked me my name, and I told him. He figured out that I was from Rohan, and insulted its people."

"As he always did," Éowyn snarled, the vicious look in her eyes startling. Gúthwyn blinked, and made a note to question her sister about her hatred later. Unbidden, the dream she had had with Éowyn and Gríma rose to the surface of her mind.

"What happened then?" Théoden asked quietly.

"I punched him," Gúthwyn replied, "and broke his nose."

Her uncle started. "Not long after he entered my service, he took to carrying a handkerchief with him at all times. His nose constantly bothered him."

A brief sense of pride stirred within her, but then disappeared as she prepared to tell the rest of the story. "He grabbed me," she whispered, shuddering at the memory of his hands roaming over her body. "He grabbed me and… and tried…"

Théoden was more furious than she had ever seen him in her life. "Did he do anything?" he demanded urgently, a fire in his eyes that made her wince. Glancing over at Legolas, she saw that the Elf was watching her intently; a fresh wave of embarrassment swept over her. To tell her uncle of what Gríma had almost done to her was bad enough, but it was a thousand times worse with Legolas there.

Hastily, she shook her head. "No," she replied, and Théoden let out a breath that he had been holding. "A friend of mine came in at that moment—he knew what was happening, and said that Saruman was coming. Gríma got scared off, and left the room."

Words could not describe her gratitude to Cobryn, her good friend for so many years. She wondered if he was still alive, and sent a quick prayer to the Valar for his safety.

"Why were you sent to Mordor?" Théoden wanted to know then.

It took her nearly a minute to collect herself. "When I was fifteen," she said, her voice low so that Gimli had to lean in to hear it, "there was an outbreak of Wargs in the stables."

"Wargs?" Aragorn looked at her keenly. "Saruman has Wargs?"

She nodded, almost gagging as she smelt their flesh once more, and saw their beady eyes staring at her from the darkness. Her breathing grew shallow and rapid; she found herself unable to speak for terror.

"Gúthwyn." Éowyn's gentle voice sounded as though it were from miles away. Her shoulders were shaken, and when she blinked she saw that she was in Meduseld, not in the cage.

"S-Sorry," she muttered, berating herself for her weakness, and turning red when she saw Legolas' eyes still upon her. She struggled to continue. "All of the overseers left me and the two other slaves to die in the stampede. There were only fifteen of the creatures loose, but they were many times bigger than us. We took the Orcs' weapons and fought against them. At one point I was overwhelmed, and a Warg pinned me to the ground. It nearly bit my cheek off."

Aragorn started, and she nodded at him. "There is the answer to that riddle," she told him grimly. Then she spoke again. "One of the slaves became trapped under a Warg's corpse. I could not free him, so I went to find my friend."

Here she paused, repressing the tears that threatened to surface once more. "She… A Warg..."

_Think!_ she screamed at herself. _Think!_

Taking a deep breath, she said, "A Warg knocked her over. I was too far away… They ate her. Her name was Chalibeth."

As soon as she uttered those words, Gúthwyn almost vomited. Her stomach was turning over violently, and she pressed a quivering hand over it. For a full minute, no one said anything as she attempted to regain control of herself. She hated this weakness; even with Borogor, who had seen her at her worst, she was loath to display it.

Eventually, she quelled her tossing stomach, and looked up. "I killed the rest of the Wargs," she said, her voice hoarse. "Saruman came in then and I told him that I had slaughtered all of the animals, so that he did not punish the other slave. He put me in the cage."

Éowyn's hold on her tightened considerably. "The cage?" she repeated, a wary look in her eyes. Gúthwyn noticed that Aragorn glanced at her sister keenly before returning his attentions to her.

Gúthwyn sighed. "In the stables," she began, desperately trying to still her shivering body, "there is one large cage, so dark that none of the slaves can see if there are any Wargs in it or not. When Saruman's servant brought me in there, I could see nothing. He shoved me into something small, and left me there. It was another cage."

Her voice shook, and she could actually feel the bile rising up in her throat before she forced it back down. Éowyn was staring at her, horror-struck; Legolas' features had hardened. Gúthwyn was unable to look at either of them as she continued. "When the servant came back, he lit a torch so that I could see what was around me. There were too many corpses to count—mostly women and children. And then…"

Her heart froze. Memories of the cage were flooding her, swarming in relentlessly: The girl, with maggots in her eyes; the Warg's gaze, never swerving, always watching her; the hunger, and thirst, and exhaustion; the voices, returning to her in the quiet of the night, whispering the same things over and over again…

"Gúthwyn!"

She whimpered as someone shook her shoulders. It was Théoden. "Gúthwyn, look at me!" he exclaimed, his blue eyes frantically searching her own for a response. She realized that she was pale and sweating.

"I-I am fine," she whispered, wanting him to take his hands off of her. After a few seconds, he did, but he had drawn nearer.

Her gaze turned to Legolas. "This is why," she said, "I was so terrified in Moria, why I hardly got any sleep there."

He looked surprised that she had spoken so directly to him. On any other occasion, she would have shied from or snapped at him. "How long did he leave you in there?" the Elf asked quietly, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Almost three days." Gúthwyn's voice was so low that everyone had to lean in closer to hear her. Gandalf, who up until now had been lingering unnoticed in a corner, shifted very slightly.

She looked at him, but he did not say anything, and so she continued, struggling to finish the rest of her story. "I do not remember anything from the last night until I woke up in my bed. The man that saved me from Gríma had taken me out of the cages and brought me back. He stayed with me while I recovered, for the Uruks had taken sport with him, and he could barely walk."

"Why did they beat him?" Aragorn wanted to know.

Gúthwyn sighed. "Because he stopped Saruman's servant from whipping me when I got out of the cage."

"Who was Saruman's servant?" Gandalf questioned her then, his eyebrows raised.

"A Warg-rider named Sharkû," Gúthwyn answered. "He was—is—their leader." Heaving another sigh, she pressed forward. "Later, two Uruks brought me before Saruman. He told me that he was sending me to Mordor. I found out later that I was an experiment, to see if it would profit the Dark Lord to have women in his army."

Éowyn's jaw clenched at the prospect. "What did he decide?"

"I am getting there," Gúthwyn said wearily. "It was my sixteenth birthday when Saruman told me I was leaving. The next day, I set out from Isengard with an escort of several Uruks. I ran with them over the lands—sometimes they carried me, but more often than not I was on foot."

"Did they harm you?" Théoden asked, his hands curling into fists.

"A few lashes of the whip, if I did not want the food or if they felt like it," Gúthwyn shrugged, privately thinking that she would have rather had five hundred such beatings than a night with Haldor.

Then she paused, debating whether or not to say anything about the children. They were almost certainly dead, and she did not want to lose control of herself again. She had not even arrived at Mordor, yet already she had displayed embarrassing signs of weakness to the others.

However, it would be next to impossible to finish the tale without mentioning them. Nearly all of her decisions had been based on their welfare; she would not even be alive today, if it were not for them. And Borogor.

Steeling herself to forget his touch, she said, "At the end of the second week, the Uruks captured a family. They were from the East Emnet."

Éowyn straightened. "Éomer brought us news of their disappearance, uncle, do you remember?" she asked. "They were coming back from a visit to Gondor, but were never seen in Rohan again."

Théoden shook his head. "I do not remember," he replied, "but much of the past seven years I have forgotten, or I have seen as a blurry fog."

For a few seconds, there was silence. Then Gúthwyn took up the story again. She told them of the merciless slayings of the parents, of how she had saved the children from death; she told them of the rest of the journey, the Enemy's servant branding her—Théoden and Éowyn both winced, when she showed them the mark—and their arrival at Udûn. It was then that she found it more difficult to speak.

"I met Haldor that day," she said, and when she looked up at Legolas, his eyes had widened slightly.

"Who was he?" Théoden questioned, not noticing the glance his niece had exchanged with the prince of Mirkwood.

Gúthwyn shuddered. "An Elf," she answered, "brought long ago to Mordor. He was the commanding officer of the human army—that was where I was put. At first, I thought he was the most wonderful being in all of Middle-earth." Her eyes flashed as she remembered how foolish and naïve she had been. "It did not take me long to find out otherwise."

She fell silent. Telling them what he had done to her was not an option. That piece of her past she would keep secret, maybe even from Éowyn. The only person who knew of all her humiliation at the Elf's hands was Borogor, and a large part of her wanted it to stay that way.

Her breathing, nevertheless, was growing uneven as Éowyn asked softly, "What did he do?"

"He was horrible," Gúthwyn whispered, staring fixedly at the table. "If you disobeyed him, he would have the person closest to you killed." Her voice shook, and she felt tears coming to her face as she thought of poor Beregil. "H-He made my b-best friend murder his own brother…"

She put her face in her hands, and could not stop her shoulders from heaving up and down. Before her eyes, she saw Borogor hurling the spear at Beregil, time slowing painfully down just before the tip of it embedded itself in the young man's heart. She saw Haldor's triumphant gaze bearing down upon her, Borogor sinking to his knees in despair, the fury in his eyes as he slapped her.

A light hand was placed on her back. "Why?" Éowyn's gentle voice met her ears, making her want to cry even more.

"Because he refused to torture me!" The sentence came out in a tumbled rush, though as her sister's hand stiffened she knew that everyone had heard her. "He did not know! He thought he was being noble! But Haldor had him killed!"

The words were falling from her lips in stutters and gasps; every second of that day was seared onto her mind, never to leave. Borogor had lost Beregil, and less than a year later she had lost him. She almost started sobbing then and there—Legolas' presence was one of the only two things preventing her. The other was the memory of Haldor, his body pressed on top of hers, hitting her again and again until the tears stopped. _"You do not cry!"_ _he hissed at her, pure rage filling his eyes. "If I ever see you crying, or hear of you crying, I will take one of those children!"_

Gúthwyn's eyes were dry when she looked up. Legolas was watching her intently, pity lining his features. She wanted none of it.

"Did he ever do anything to you?" Théoden asked, leaning closer to her. Gúthwyn saw Legolas' eyes narrow in concentration.

"None of the men touched me," she replied, dodging the question and lying at the same time. She firmly pushed Burzum's foot and Lumren's wandering hands out of her mind. But when she glanced back at Legolas, she knew her ruse had not been lost on him. Neither had Aragorn failed to notice that she had not truly answered Théoden's inquiry. Ignoring their looks, she continued. "On my first day, I also met…"

She could not say his name. Not now, not in front of Legolas. "I met Haldor's second-in-command," she finished shakily. "He told the soldiers that if any of them harmed me, he would kill them. He… He…"

_Protected me_ was what she should have said. _Loved me_ was what she wanted to say. But she suddenly found herself trembling and unable to speak; once more, she buried her face in her hands, keeping the others from seeing the tears that had sprung up in fresh renewal.

"What is his name?" Legolas' quiet voice penetrated her misery, and she cringed, frantically shaking her head.

"H-He was my b-best fr-friend…" Gúthwyn was dangerously close to losing control of herself and breaking down in tears. Why had she not realized that they both loved each other? How had she been so foolish, so _stupid?_ Why had the Valar and Faramir so cruelly taken him away from her, when he had done nothing to deserve death? And how had she _made love_ to Haldor, with Borogor's body hardly cold?

From a great distance, Éowyn asked, "What happened to him?"

"He-he-he _died!_" Gúthwyn choked. Silence hung in the air as she pressed her hand over her mouth, loathing herself for being so weak, but unable to conceal her emotions. Her entire body was shaking as Éowyn wrapped her arms around her. She leaned into her sister's embrace, still not crying, but closer to doing so than she had ever been since that second morning with Haldor.

_Borogor,_ she called silently, as Éowyn held her tighter, _Borogor, why did you have to go?_


	13. Presentation

**The Rohan Pride Trilogy**

**Part Two: Reunions**

**Book One**

**By: WhiteLadyOfTroy**

**Summary:  
**Gúthwyn's mission has failed. Now that she is traveling with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to find the Hobbits, she finds herself being confronted with her past, as well as some painful experiences in the present.

**About the Trilogy:  
**I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. _The Fellowship of the Ring_ had two books within the text, as did _The Two Towers_ and _The Return of the King_. The only change I have made is the first part in my trilogy: Alone. That was divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where _The Fellowship of the Ring_ started. Reunions will be divided into two books.

**About Chapter Thirteen:  
**As always, I will be using a blend of both movie and book canon. Sorry for any confusion. Please correct me on anything that seems amiss, out-of-character, or non-canon. Regarding two names given in this chapter: Canonically, Anborn was one of the Ithilien Rangers, but the name is Rohirric in origin, and heaven knows how many name duplications there are in Middle-earth. _Mearh_ is the singular form of _Mearas,_ though it was never used in The Lord of the Rings.Just an advance warning: Lately, my chapters have been bouncing back and forth between extremely long or rather short.

**Chapter Thirteen**

The sound of her name being called was what awoke Gúthwyn the next morning. Groaning, she stirred, not knowing where she was. Something thick and soft was laid upon her, and she was not wearing her usual tunic and leggings—was it a shift?

"Gúthwyn?" A golden haze was above her, accompanied by a light female voice.

"What…?" Gúthwyn murmured in confusion, blinking and trying to banish the sleep from her eyes.

There was a rush of cold air that woke her up far more effectively. Shivering, she sat up, and realized that she was in a large bed, with fur comforters and luxurious sheets. Beside the nightstand stood Éowyn, carrying an armful of clothes and what looked like a brush. "Good morning," she said, smiling.

The memories of last night came flooding back to her. After she had regained control of herself, managing to push away the feeling of Borogor's arms wrapped around her, the sound of his voice murmuring that she had nothing to fear, and the sight of his lifeless body lying on the foliage, she had told Théoden nearly all that had transpired since then. Nearly all, for she said no more of Haldor, and the tale of the Fellowship—including Haldor's death—she had glossed over. It had been difficult, broaching the subject of her mission, though Gandalf had intervened then and said that she was sent to scout for the Enemy. Much to her relief, no one pressed her for more information. It was not much of an explanation, but it had satisfied their curiosity.

And then Éowyn had brought her back to her old room, insisting on changing the sheets: Gríma, she explained, had used the room while he was Théoden's advisor. Gúthwyn was extraordinarily glad that she had done so, for she did not think she would have gotten any sleep otherwise. As it was, for a long time she had lain awake, her mind racing over the day's events. It felt as if her eyes had only been closed for a few minutes.

"We will be leaving within a few hours," Éowyn said then, jolting her out of her thoughts. Gúthwyn glanced at her sister, and found herself being handed a pile of clothing. "This is all that I could find on such a short notice. You are smaller than me, so they might be a bit loose, but I am afraid we will not be having new garments made anytime soon."

"What, you have not learned to sew?" Gúthwyn asked, eliciting a smile from her sister.

"Yes, and you will find what I managed to complete stuffed in a dusty drawer somewhere," Éowyn replied, grimacing. "Before he fell under Gríma's enchantment, Théoden despaired of me ever finding a husband."

A sudden shadow crossed her face, and the lighthearted moment was lost. An awkward moment passed.

"Are you betrothed?" Gúthwyn eventually inquired, wanting to break the silence. Éowyn looked at her, and shook her head.

"Oh." Gúthwyn could think of nothing else to say, and started examining the clothes she had been given. They were all dresses. At length, she withdrew a small grey one from the pile, noting with some relief that there were slits up the side for riding.

Éowyn turned around to give her some privacy while she changed, then turned back and said, "Let me do something about your hair."

Gúthwyn hesitated. She could not even think of the last time her tangles had seen a brush.

Her sister knew what was going through her mind, and said, "Do not worry. Between Éomer and Théodred"—her voice cracked as she uttered their cousin's name—"I have seen everything."

With a small nod, Gúthwyn conceded, and sat on the bed. Several seconds later, Éowyn released her hair from its tie, and she winced as she felt the matted locks pressing against her cheek.

"Why did you not say anything?" Éowyn asked suddenly, running the brush through her hair. It could not go an inch without encountering a mass of knots. Gúthwyn cringed: If this kept up, they would be here all day.

"What do you mean?"

"When you arrived," her sister explained. Gúthwyn let out a small hiss as her hair was yanked. "Lord Aragorn said that you met Éomer, but you clearly hid yourself from him as well, because he would have found a way to at least send word to me."

She did not want to tell Éowyn that she had been afraid of him turning her away. "Why was he banished?" she asked instead, twisting around to look at her sister. Éowyn pushed her head back and attacked it with the brush once more, but there was also venom in her voice as she answered.

"Gríma thought Éomer was a threat." Hatred twisted Éowyn's words, and Gúthwyn felt it with every stroke of the brush. "Éomer could have killed him, if he wished, but his influence over the king was too strong. Before Théodred… died, Wormtongue made up some excuse to have him banished." She gave a ferocious tug as she spoke; Gúthwyn nearly cried out in pain.

"Did Gríma ever… do anything to you?" Gúthwyn wanted to know, her breathing slightly uneven now.

Éowyn stopped her motions, and when Gúthwyn looked at her, she did not turn her head back. "He followed me," Éowyn said at last, her pale face cold with anger. Gúthwyn suddenly found herself wondering when her sister had last seen the sun. "Always when he thought I was not aware. Sometimes when he knew I marked the falling of his feet. But he did not dare try anything, not while Éomer was at Meduseld."

Their eyes met, and Gúthwyn was unable to tell if her sister was concealing something from her, just as she kept Haldor's abuse a closely guarded secret.

"It does not matter now," Éowyn said, bringing an end to the quiet. "He is gone. And you have returned, beyond all hope! It is long since we had any."

"It is long since I had any as well," Gúthwyn replied, flinching as Éowyn once again took up the brush. She was not even halfway done. "I have said this before, but I thought you and Éomer were dead."

Éowyn shook her head. "We woke up nearly three days later. Théodred told us the news."

Gúthwyn shivered, remembering her cousin's hands, white as death, folded across his chest. "I miss him," she whispered.

"In his last words," Éowyn said, sounding as if she were struggling to hold back tears, "you were mentioned."

Straightening, Gúthwyn asked, "What did he say?"

"He was half delirious," Éowyn sighed. "He wanted the Fords to be held until Éomer came. He told me to look to the east, if I willed it, but only so far as Gondor, where he said my shadow would be lifted. Then he said that he saw you, and he asked me if I remembered him teaching you, years ago. I did not understand what he next told me: 'Even as she is before my eyes, I will not see her soon; nor shall I, though she has tried and may yet try still.'"

"What does the last part mean?" Gúthwyn wondered as Éowyn moved to the other side of her and started brushing there.

Her sister looked puzzled. "He somehow managed to foresee that you would not be waiting for him, though I cannot make sense of what he said after."

The two of them remained in silence as Éowyn finished the rest of Gúthwyn's hair. "We should be going," she said when she was done, handing the tie back. "Leave your hair down, if you will it, as it is a good look for you."

Gúthwyn conceded, too happy to have Éowyn back to be concerned with her hair. The two sisters moved out of the bedchamber, walking down the small, dim passage until they emerged into the throne room. It was bustling with activity. Guards were going to and fro, carrying both food and armor, disappearing out of the doors and down into the streets. Outside, Gúthwyn could see a great score of people preparing to make the journey to Helm's Deep; yet children were clinging to their parents, rather than playing with each other, and the faces of the villagers were grim.

She felt troubled as she watched them, too far away to discern individual faces, but then Éowyn took her hand. Starting, Gúthwyn realized that Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli were having a hurried breakfast at a nearby table.

"No," she tried to say to her sister, not wanting to face Legolas, but Éowyn was already walking towards them.

Gúthwyn followed slowly. When she got there, she was keenly aware of Legolas' eyes on her, and she flushed in embarrassment and anger. Now, more than ever, she regretted letting him hear her story.

"Gúthwyn," someone said gruffly, and she glanced down to see Gimli standing before her. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "I want to beg your pardon for distrusting you. I was not too kind, I fear."

"You had every reason to be wary of me," Gúthwyn replied, though the knot in her heart lessened somewhat with his apology. "Do not worry about it—I hope we can be friends again."

Her words were not careless. She really did miss his company. He had provided her with many tales about his people, and even if she never could tell the names apart, it helped her keep her mind off of her troubles.

"I would like that," Gimli said, a grin coming to his face. As if he had read her thoughts, he continued. "You still have much to learn about the Dwarves!"

She smiled. "I am looking forward to it."

At that moment, a great horn blast sounded throughout the Golden Hall. Gúthwyn glanced up; Aragorn and Éowyn, who had been speaking together, were quiet. Théoden had entered the room. He wore almost a full suit of armor, with leather gloves covering his hands and a breastplate protecting his chest. She wondered if he expected combat.

"We shall leave in no less than an hour," he declared, and immediately all of the guards bowed and continued their tasks, though with haste marking their movements.

Théoden came over to where she stood. "Gúthwyn," he said, and now it was her turn to face him awkwardly. "Are you ready?"

He meant for her to be presented to the people. Already, rumor was bound to be spreading about the mysterious cloaked stranger that had come to Edoras with Gandalf; it was better to check the local gossip before went too far. She swallowed nervously, and nodded.

A broad smile spread across his face, and he hugged her once more. "I am so glad that you are here," he said, "even in these dark times when the hand of joy is sparing."

Gúthwyn returned the embrace, but she was happier when he let go. He may have spoken the truth, and really have been incapable of doing anything about her capture, but the lies of Haldor were rooted deeply in her mind. She could not just toss them away like soiled bandages.

Together, the two of them made their way to the open doors, Éowyn not two paces behind. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli followed them. She looked around for Gandalf, but did not see him—was he in the stables, getting Shadowfax ready for the trip? Somehow, she could not imagine the great horse ambling alongside a slow-traveling group of people.

These thoughts did not distract her for long, and soon she was blinking anxiously in the sunlight as she stood upon the landing. Before her lay the entire city of Edoras, filled with activity even in the early hour. At the sight of Théoden, however, many of the Rohirrim stopped what they were doing, and moved closer to the stairs. Not a few of them were squinting curiously up at Gúthwyn. She thought some of the men were familiar: They had been boys when she wrestled with them.

For a moment, Théoden merely stood there, gazing out at his people. As he did, Tun came up beside her. He was wearing the full suit of armor, along with his helmet. His chin had been reset, and she felt a twinge of guilt for harming him. "Has he announced you yet?" he muttered.

She shook her head. But just then, one of the men whom she had recognized spoke, his voice hesitant and unsure. "My lord?" he called, though he was staring at Gúthwyn as if he had seen a ghost.

Théoden glanced down at him. "Yes, Anborn?"

Anborn swayed uncertainly back and forth. "My lord, please, who is that woman whom stands next to you? With your permission, King Théoden, she looks like an older version of your niece, but that cannot be."

Théoden stepped toward him, and Anborn appeared to have regretted speaking. "I am sorry—" he began. Théoden cut him off with a raised hand.

"Your eye is sharp, Anborn," he replied, his voice loud so that everyone could hear it. "For what you say is indeed true. Good people of Edoras, know this: Last night, with Gandalf the Grey and Aragorn of the Dúnedain, came someone I thought I would never see again, except in the halls of eternal rest."

Gúthwyn moved forward, so that Théoden could place his hand on her shoulder. "My niece, Gúthwyn, has returned to us beyond all hope!"

It was Tun who started clapping, but the stunned cheers and shocked applause that rang through the city in that hour were deafening. Gúthwyn felt a broad grin spreading over her face as shouts of her name rose up to meet her. This was where she loved to be: With the Eorlingas, with her people. She could hardly believe that just a few days earlier, she had not wanted to come here.

The time that she had to mingle with the crowd afterwards was brief, as she needed to get to the stables to prepare Heorot for the journey, but in that short period she gave and received more hugs than she ever had in her entire life. A rush of familiar faces was before her. Most of the men she had played with in earlier days were now married, and not a few of them had children.

Women, she had a more difficult time connecting to their childhood presences, but that was simply because she had never had a single friend that was a girl until she was taken to Isengard. Yet she embraced them all the same, and took care to remember their names. At one point, she found herself before Tun's mother.

"You have grown so much!" the woman murmured before hugging her. Gúthwyn chuckled, for in reality, she was not that tall—at least a foot shorter than all of the men. "You made my boy so happy," Tun's mother continued when they separated, and Gúthwyn blushed. "But let us hope that you will not be engaging in another fight with him anytime in the near future!"

Gúthwyn laughed. "I will try to refrain myself," she promised.

A few minutes later, she was in the stables, opening Heorot's stall. The stableboys called out to her as they passed, their arms full of saddles, and she waved merrily at each of them. Théoden and Éowyn were no longer with her, as their own horses were already waiting outside. She did not see Arod or Hasufel, either. But what struck her as most conspicuous was the absence of Shadowfax. The _Mearh_ was nowhere in sight, and neither he nor Gandalf she had seen before entering the stables.

As she stared at the empty stall, puzzling out this riddle and absentmindedly getting Heorot's saddle ready, a certain voice met her ears.

"He departed earlier this morning."

She jumped, and whirled around to face Legolas. "H-He did?" she asked, now fumbling with the saddle.

The Elf nodded. "He did not say why in any clear terms."

Gúthwyn was finding it increasingly harder to concentrate on Heorot under Legolas' gaze. Her hands were slipping on simple knots, and the horse was moving uncomfortably. _This is an easy task!_ she yelled at herself, but to no avail. Try as she might, she could not get a steady grip on the last strap.

"Do you want help?" Legolas asked concernedly, taking a step forward. She blushed furiously.

"I know how to saddle a horse, thank you!"

Her voice was louder than she had intended, and some of the men glanced over at her.

"Gúthwyn," he said; however, when she glared at him, he seemed to think better of what he was going to say. "As you wish," he instead replied, and bowed courteously.

She blinked at the unexpected gesture, but then he had left the stables. Her heart was pounding unsteadily, and she had to take several deep breaths before returning her attentions to Heorot.

"Why does he have to look so much like him?" she whispered, and Heorot snorted.


	14. Journey To Helm's Deep

**The Rohan Pride Trilogy**

**Part Two: Reunions**

**Book One**

**By: WhiteLadyOfTroy**

**Summary:  
**Gúthwyn's mission has failed. Now that she is traveling with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to find the Hobbits, she finds herself being confronted with her past, as well as some painful experiences in the present.

**About the Trilogy:  
**I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. _The Fellowship of the Ring_ had two books within the text, as did _The Two Towers_ and _The Return of the King_. The only change I have made is the first part in my trilogy: Alone. That was divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where _The Fellowship of the Ring_ started. Reunions will be divided into two books.

**About Chapter Fourteen:  
**As always, I will be using a blend of both movie and book canon. Sorry for any confusion. Please correct me on anything that seems amiss, out-of-character, or non-canon. Just an advance warning: Lately, my chapters have been bouncing back and forth between extremely long or rather short.

**Chapter Fourteen**

It was high noon, and Gúthwyn was just one of the hundreds of people passing alongside the mountains to get to Helm's Deep. For a few hours they had been moving; most walked, but a few had horses. The ill were being carried in wagons, which were responsible for most of the delay. She did not mind the slowness, however: For the entire journey, she had been with Tun, and was enjoying herself immensely.

He had been regaling her with tales of his exploits, just before he became one of the royal guards. Only half of these did she believe, but they cheered her all the same. A surge of happiness rose within her whenever the sun's rays caught his armor, making it sparkle and gleam. She loved the idea that he was now a guard; everything from his gaze, which was constantly making sure of their surroundings, to the way one hand was easily curled over his sword at all times, told her that he knew what he was doing. Underneath the armor, she did not doubt, was a toned body—it would not come as a surprise to her if he had attracted the attention of many women.

As he finished telling her a story about how he had won a race against Anborn, Gúthwyn smiled. "How did you come to be a guard?" she inquired, and took a quick glance back at Heorot. She had been leading the horse behind her, preferring to walk beside Tun than to ride. But it was not primarily for Heorot's safety, though he meant much to her, that she looked: Théoden had given her back her old sword, Framwine, just before they left. She could not believe that he had kept it, but she was immensely grateful that he had.

When she looked back at her friend, there was an odd expression on his face. "I think the only reason I was originally selected," he began, sighing, "was because I was close to you. Indeed, for the first months, I did not train—Théoden wanted me by his side to talk about you."

Gúthwyn digested this bit of information, mulling it over in her mind as Tun continued. "But as Gríma's influence wore on the king, he soon forgot about me. Your brother took pity, and taught me all of what I know. I am forever in his debt."

She raised her eyebrows in mild surprise. "Éomer instructed you?" she asked, trying to imagine her brother teaching someone. A brief sadness came over her as she wondered what else she had missed.

Tun nodded, but he seemed to sense that her mood had changed, and did not say much more on the subject, except: "Rohan feels his loss deeply, though I daresay he shall come back as soon as he can—especially if word gets to him that his sister has returned. It was only under Gríma's orders that he was banished, for Théoden barely knew what he was agreeing to."

Gúthwyn's hands curled into fists. "That foul monster is lucky Aragorn showed him mercy. I would not have."

Her friend looked at her. "Even at the height of his power, Gríma did not dare speak of you. The coward knew that Éomer would have slaughtered him on the spot."

She remembered Éowyn's words from earlier: _Gríma thought Éomer was a threat… made up some excuse to have him banished._

As a silence fell between her and Tun, she scanned the crowd of refugees for her sister, knowing that she was nearby. Soon, she saw her. Éowyn was talking to Gimli, a broad grin on her face as the Dwarf said something. Despite Gimli's stubborn dislike of horses, today he was riding on top of one.

Gúthwyn had been watching the two of them for a little less than a minute when the Dwarf's horse suddenly took fright and bolted. It only ran a few paces, but the straggling line scattered, and Gimli was thrown to the ground.

"Is that your friend?" Tun questioned as Éowyn ran over to the Dwarf, pulling him up and patting him on the back. Clear laughter rang through the air, and Gúthwyn marveled to see her sister so happy.

"Yes," she replied, "though none too at ease around horses, as you can tell."

Éowyn looked up as she spoke, her eyes traveling past Gúthwyn and Tun to another sight. Gúthwyn turned slightly and saw Théoden, sitting upon Snowmane and watching his niece help the short guest. But it was not to her uncle that Éowyn gazed: Aragorn was beside him, and it was the Ranger who had captured her attention.

Gúthwyn noted that her sister's cheeks colored slightly when Aragorn's eyes met hers, and she reminded herself to inquire about it later. Despite having been separated from her for over seven years, she knew that Éowyn was captivated by brave deeds and noble fighters—Aragorn certainly met those requirements.

She continued to watch her sister, even as the smile faded from Éowyn's face.

* * *

Legolas sat at ease upon Arod, keeping the horse just behind Aragorn and the king's. A slight grin was on his face at Gimli's recent mishap, though he was also glad that his friend had not been hurt. A few months ago, it would have been near impossible to believe that he would be so concerned about a Dwarf's well being, but he was not the least bit ashamed to have seen the error of his ways.

"I have not seen my niece smile for a long time," he heard Théoden say, and glanced over at the king. "She was a girl when they brought her father back dead—cut down by Orcs."

Legolas looked at Éowyn, who had a large smile sweeping across her features. He could certainly tell why they called her the White Lady of Rohan: Before Gandalf had lifted the enchantment from Théoden, she was pale, and cold as winter. Now, the sunlight was in her hair, making almost as golden as Galadriel's in appearance, and a healthy glow was in her face. Legolas knew that this was, in no small way, due to Aragorn. It was clear to see that Éowyn was enamored of him.

"…should have loved her as a father." Legolas realized that Théoden was still talking, and focused his eyes back on the king.

After a slight pause, Aragorn replied, "No harm has come to her from lack of attention on your part. Rather, it is the attention from Gríma that I worry about."

Théoden's back muscles tightened. "Ever that snake seeks to harm my family. Éomer has been banished. The Valar know what Éowyn went through, alone in a darkening house. Théodred has perished, and now I wonder if Gríma did not have his hand in the death, in one way or another. And Gúthwyn…"

"You did not know better," Aragorn was quick to remind him. "Gríma took advantage of your grief. It is not your fault."

The king's shoulders were slumped. "For four years, she was in Isengard," he said. "Isengard, not even a week's ride away! Yet we thought she was dead, and now that she is back…"

"She loves you," Aragorn replied. "She may not think so, and you may not think so, but she has always leapt down the throats of anyone who insulted you or your people."

"Where is she now?" Théoden asked. "I have not seen her since we left."

Legolas saw Gúthwyn first, as he had been watching her from time to time. "She is with the guard, close to her sister," he said quietly. For the entire journey, she had been in glad spirits, chatting nonstop with the guard. They must have been friends before she was taken from Rohan, as he had been the first to attack her when he thought she was someone else, and the first to swear service to her when he saw otherwise.

More than ever, it saddened him to know that she still feared and loathed him. He had hoped that, after being reunited with her family, she would find it in her heart to be friends, but evidently not. His mere presence made her tremble, and instantly put her on defense. When he had spoken to her in the stables, she had not even been able to saddle her horse correctly, though he knew that she could normally have done the task with her eyes closed.

Offering her help had been a big mistake. She had spurned it, her reaction stingingly cold, and he had decided that any further attempts at reconciliation would only make her hate him even more. So he had left, and when she had emerged from the stables she had ignored him, going to her sister and staying close by her side. When Théoden had presented her with her sword—she had it on the horse now, and was constantly checking to make sure it was there—she had been delighted, but even when their eyes met he had seen some of the happiness fade.

"I fear she did not tell me half of what happened to her," Théoden sighed, running his fingers through his hair in worry. "The Valar only know…"

Gúthwyn had most definitely not told them all that there was to hear. Her explanation about Haldor was not nearly satisfying enough. Legolas did not doubt that he had forced her best friend to kill his brother, but that was no reason why she was so terrified of the Elf. She had mentioned that the brother had died because he refused to torture her… Had Haldor been torturing her beforehand?

Even if that was true, Legolas did not think that it was memories of physical harm from the Elf that had Gúthwyn trembling in a frozen horror, her eyes wide and her breathing ragged. His own mind kept drifting back to the complete and utter control Haldor had exuded over her when he commanded her—three times, he had given an order, and three times, she had obeyed him.

"Did she say anything to you," Théoden began, and he took himself out of his thoughts to listen to the king, "while you were traveling with her?"

"About her past?" Aragorn responded, shaking his head. "I know no more than you do, my lord. For a long time I had suspected her of being a servant of the Enemy, and I certainly kept a close watch on her, but she reveals very little about herself."

Théoden sighed. "I feel as if I hardly know her," he murmured sadly. "My own niece is like a stranger to me."

"Do not worry," Aragorn said. "She will come around; you shall see."

"More than anything," Théoden replied, "I pray that you are right."

Legolas looked at the king. He would have liked to believe Aragorn's words, yet he could not help but remember the absolute hatred in Gúthwyn's voice as she had screamed at her uncle. They were terrible things to hear from one so young—she could not have been twenty—and even worse to know that she truly thought the king had abandoned her.

For a moment, she had had him convinced that she was evil. To speak so cruelly of Théoden's niece was not at all something he had expected from her. "She is pathetic! She is less than that _dog_ lying upon your hearth!" she had shrieked, and he had actually felt the bile rising in his throat. When she had been revealed, and welcomed back into the royal family with open arms, no one had addressed those words, seeming not to know what to say. Yet he was willing to bet that they had nothing to do with Théoden and everything to do with Haldor.

Sounds of faint laughter met his ears, and he looked over to see Gúthwyn giggling at something her friend had said. As he watched, she put a hand on his arm and laughed even harder. The guard was certainly doing his best to entertain her, and it was working. Whereas Legolas had to fight an uphill battle just to win a civil reply.

He shook his head. Why she chose to hate him, he was unable to say. He could still feel the slap of her hand across his cheek, and knew that he had committed the crime of looking upon her tear-filled eyes, seeing her when she was at her weakest. She did not like anyone to see her in a vulnerable state—not Boromir, whom she had been close friends with, nor even her own family.

His mind went back to her story. In addition to Haldor, he would have liked to know more about her best friend. It was when she spoke of him that she had nearly broken down crying; when her shining eyes had met his, he had the strangest feeling that it was only his presence that prevented her from doing so. Clearly this man, whoever he had been, meant a lot to her.

Sighing, Legolas brought himself out of his musings. Whatever Gúthwyn's past was, he doubted that he would be hearing more of it. _It is none of my business, anyway,_ he thought, and tried to focus his attention on something else. Absent-mindedly, he watched two of the guards come back from scouting the upcoming trail, and contemplated taking their place in order to keep his mind off of Gúthwyn.

But even when he decided to go through with that idea, and was dismounting his horse, his eyes kept going back to the mysterious woman.


	15. Rest

**The Rohan Pride Trilogy**

**Part Two: Reunions**

**Book One**

**By: WhiteLadyOfTroy**

**Summary:  
**Gúthwyn's mission has failed. Now that she is traveling with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to find the Hobbits, she finds herself being confronted with her past, as well as some painful experiences in the present.

**About the Trilogy:  
**I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. _The Fellowship of the Ring_ had two books within the text, as did _The Two Towers_ and _The Return of the King_. The only change I have made is the first part in my trilogy: Alone. That was divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where _The Fellowship of the Ring_ started. Reunions will be divided into two books.

**About Chapter Fifteen:  
**As always, I will be using a blend of both movie and book canon. Sorry for any confusion. Please correct me on anything that seems amiss, out-of-character, or non-canon. Also, I know nothing of sword fighting, so some of the upcoming scenes may seem ludicrous to experts. Feel free to point out any blatant errors. Finally, just an advance warning: Lately, my chapters have been bouncing back and forth between extremely long or rather short. This one happens to be ridiculously short.

**Chapter Fifteen**

Later that day, Théoden allowed the refugees to halt for an hour, in order to regain their strength and have something to eat. The Rohirrim were a hardy folk, but most of the women and children could not go on for an entire march, especially when they were carrying all the food and clothing that was able to fit in their packs. The smell of food filled the air as the Eorlingas prepared meals for themselves, and the young were running around in excitement.

Gúthwyn was sitting against a small boulder, watching the children play with each other miserably. In her mind's eye, she was imagining Hammel and Haiweth among them, living out the life that they deserved. But thanks to her, their death warrants had been signed. Before too much time had passed, she knew Sauron would order their execution, if he had not done so already. Tears did not come at this knowledge: A cold, numb feeling swept over her whenever she thought of them.

For several long moments, she gazed at the children, sorely envying their mothers. Hammel and Haiweth had certainly not come from her womb, nor had they been weaned from her breast, but she was their protector. How much had she given over the years to ensure their safety? Nothing that she wished to think of right now, and nothing that she ever could think of without feeling sick revulsion crawling through her stomach.

As she sat there, a little boy tripped over his own feet and crumbled to the ground, immediately bursting into tears. Gúthwyn half-rose, but the child's mother had scooped him up almost instantly, hugging him and kissing him. Soft whispers fell from her lips as she rocked the boy back and forth, gradually calming him down. Though he was no longer crying, he elected to remain in his mother's arms. A smile was on the woman's face as she held her child to her tightly.

Gúthwyn could not watch them anymore. She turned away, instinctively reaching out for Borogor's pack. Opening it, she reached to the bottom and retrieved Beregil's book, holding it tightly as she curled against the rock. To the others, especially Théoden and Éowyn, she would look odd, but as long as they did not question her about what she was reading she did not care.

However, she had made a huge mistake in attempting to make her way through "The Warrior" in such a crowd of people. Memories of Borogor started swarming over her, and try as she might she could not rid herself of them. Her mind started flashing back to her seventeenth birthday, when Haldor had taken Hammel on a walk. She had been overwhelmed in terror as they left, and fainted. Borogor had carried her back, and was the first to reassure her that nothing had happened to Hammel.

Even when Hammel had returned, claiming that what he and Haldor had done was a secret, Borogor had cautioned her against going to the Elf's tent. "I fear you are falling into a trap," he had said, and he was right. She had gone to see Haldor, and in exchange for information the Elf had pinned her to the wall and taken her right then and there.

Gúthwyn snapped the book shut. Ever since she was captured, her birthdays had been nothing short of horrible. She had turned thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen in Isengard, not speaking of the day to anyone. On her sixteenth birthday, Saruman had told her that he was sending her to Mordor. The next year, Haldor had mercilessly humiliated her. Her eighteenth year, she had forgotten about it; Borogor had been the one who remembered, and wished her a happy birthday. But less than an hour later, Haldor had called her to his tent. And when she turned nineteen, she had left Mordor—left Hammel and Haiweth.

"Gúthwyn?"

She glanced up, and found herself staring into a steaming bowl of foul-smelling soup. Éowyn's hand was holding it.

"No, thank you," she said, suddenly feeling queasy. "I am not hungry."

"You did not have anything today," Éowyn replied, looking concerned. Her eyes flicked onto Beregil's book.

Hoping to distract her sister, Gúthwyn scanned the camp, searching for someone who seemed hungry. Her gaze fell on Aragorn. "There are others who need it more than I do; besides, I am not hungry. Perhaps Aragorn, Legolas, or Gimli would appreciate some." She knew that Éowyn would seek out the Ranger, rather than the Elf or Dwarf.

"Are you sure?" Éowyn asked, though her eyes were on Aragorn. Not for the first time, Gúthwyn wondered if her sister's heart was turned to him.

"Yes, I am," Gúthwyn said; yet a strange emptiness came over her as she watched Éowyn make her way to Aragorn, and it had nothing to do with hunger.

"I have been looking for you!" A cheerful voice jolted her out of her thoughts. She craned her neck up and saw Tun moving towards her. The two of them had separated when they made camp, as Théoden had wished to speak with his guards.

"Hello," she said, feeling a smile on her face. His good mood was infectious as he sat down beside her. She noted that he kept a certain distance between them; but if most other people had been so close to her, including Théoden, she would have inched away.

For the next half hour she talked with him. Only once did he inquire about Beregil's book. When she shrugged and put it back in her bag, he also shrugged, and did not press the issue. That was the sole awkward moment in their conversation; the rest of the time, she enjoyed herself immensely. When the refugees began preparing to move on again, the two of them made to stand up. He got to his feet first, and offered her his hand. After a brief second's hesitation, she took it.

As she was pulled up, she happened to glance over to her left. Legolas was only a few yards away, shouldering his bow and staring off into the distance. His profile was an exact match to Haldor's. Instinctively, she shuddered, and her grip on Tun's hands tightened without her noticing.

"Are you all right?" Tun questioned. Gúthwyn started, then let go of him and took a step back.

"I-I am sorry," she stuttered, taking a quick look at Legolas. "I-I am fine."

He followed her gaze. "The Elf?" he inquired in a low voice, narrowing his eyes.

She did not want to admit her fear of Legolas, but she reluctantly replied, "We are not the best of friends."

"Has he been bothering you?" Tun was swift to ask.

Gúthwyn shook her head, yet could not help picturing his cold eyes, piercing as Haldor's, burning into her and keeping her rooted to where she stood…

"Let us go," she said abruptly, turning away from Legolas. Mercifully, he had not noticed her. _And I pray it will remain that way.

* * *

_

As another one of Tun's stories was brought to an outrageous conclusion, Gúthwyn could not help but snicker at how absurd the tale was. "Tun," she said, nearly doubling over. She could hardly believe she was this happy. "Tun, if I hear anymore, I shall die of laughter!"

He pretended to look offended. "Whatever for, my lady?" he asked, mock indignation spreading across his features.

Gúthwyn was about to respond when a slim figure passed them. Her insides twisted as she caught sight of Legolas' golden hair, billowing behind him as he walked. She lost track of what Tun was saying, her hands shaking and her heart skipping several beats. Legolas was moving ahead of the Rohirrim, looking as though he intended to replace two of the guards, who had been scouting the trail ahead. Again, she found herself strongly reminded of Haldor, and could not help but shiver.

"Gúthwyn?" Tun's voice brought her back to the present, and she wrenched her eyes away from the Elf.

"Sorry," she murmured, glancing at the ground, not wanting him to see the fear that she knew would be reflected in her face.

"Are you alright?" he pressed. She nodded, and at length looked back at him, seeking to divert his attention from her mood.

"When do you think we will arrive at Helm's Deep?" she asked.

He gazed at the road before of them, his eyes following Háma and Gamling, who were riding past Legolas to scout. The refugees' earlier stop was a few hours past—Gúthwyn had been rather amused when Éowyn had presented Aragorn with some absolutely foul looking soup; yet she had neglected to warn him of her sister's cooking, a change in which she had correctly doubted. The incident was firmly imprinted in her mind. "I think—"

At that moment, a low, familiar-sounding growl met her ears. Gúthwyn stiffened as she heard it, for it sent plumes of nervousness rising within her, though she knew not why.

"What was that?" she wondered aloud.

Tun's hand curled tighter around his sword as more noises came. All of the Rohirrim could now hear it. Men, women, and children alike were glancing around anxiously, trying to determine the source. Aragorn, who had been walking with Éowyn, now strode forward and began climbing a sloping hill that had kept Háma and Gamling out of view. On the top of the hill Legolas had been standing not a minute ago, but now he was gone.

A sharp spike of fear assailed her as the faint sound of a man's cries was heard. Now Tun was moving forward, along with the other guards. "Tun!" she exclaimed, and he turned to her for a brief second.

It was then that Aragorn came running down the hill, his cloak flying out behind him as he sprinted towards Théoden. The king rode out to meet him. "What is it? What do you see?" Théoden demanded. There was more growling.

"Wargs!" Aragorn yelled. "We are under attack!"

Gúthwyn froze.


	16. Regretful Mistakes

**The Rohan Pride Trilogy**

**Part Two: Reunions**

**Book Two**

**By: WhiteLadyOfTroy**

**Summary:  
**Gúthwyn's mission has failed. Now that she is traveling with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to find the Hobbits, she finds herself being confronted with her past, as well as some painful experiences in the present.

**About the Trilogy:  
**I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. _The Fellowship of the Ring_ had two books within the text, as did _The Two Towers_ and _The Return of the King_. The only change I have made is the first part in my trilogy: Alone. That was divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where _The Fellowship of the Ring_ started. Reunions will be divided into two books.

**About Chapter Sixteen:  
**As always, I will be using a blend of both movie and book canon. Sorry for any confusion. Please correct me on anything that seems amiss, out-of-character, or non-canon. Also, I know nothing of sword fighting, so some of the upcoming scenes may seem ludicrous to experts. Feel free to point out any blatant errors. Finally, just an advance warning: Lately, my chapters have been bouncing back and forth between extremely long or rather short.

**Chapter Sixteen**

Within seconds, chaos had erupted. The high-pitched screams of women and children filled the air, resonating horrifically in Gúthwyn's ears. She could not breathe. Her face was paling as she panicked, while her chest rose and fell rapidly in a vain attempt to get some air. Wargs. Here. With gleaming eyes that stared at her, the only things she could see in the darkness…

"Gúthwyn!" She whimpered as someone grabbed her arm; she felt herself being shaken. "Gúthwyn, look at me!"

Her shoulders were gripped painfully, the pressure on her arm simultaneously released, and Tun's dark eyes were pinning hers down. "Look at me!" he repeated. "Find Éowyn, and stay with her! Théoden has told her to lead the people to Helm's Deep."

"W-What about…" He was going to fight them. The Wargs.

"Do not worry about me!" he said, and let go of her. "Find Éowyn!"

With those words, he turned away from her. She watched him as he leapt upon his horse, unsheathing his sword at the same time and holding it expertly in front of him. Not once did he glance back; instead, he rode out to join the gathering guards.

"Gúthwyn, what are you doing?" Someone was yelling at her, and she turned to see Aragorn on Hasufel, pulling up just beside her.

"I-I…" What was she doing? Find Éowyn, Tun had said.

"Move!" he roared at her, and then spurred Hasufel on. Heorot whinnied as the two passed them by, as if he longed to be riding with them as well.

She looked at her horse, and then suddenly she had reached into the saddlebag and pulled out Borogor's cloak. It was on her shoulders in less than a second, and she had mounted Heorot in the next instant. Her unsheathed sword was in her hands almost before she could even blink. _What am I doing?_ she wondered in fright, but Heorot had already started moving forward. At any time, she could have pulled the reins back, and turned to follow the refugees who were now fleeing the area, but her hands refused to cooperate.

Théoden and his men had almost crested the hill when she came up on the rear. Not one of the guards noticed her: All their attention was focused on what lay ahead. A flag rippled in the breeze, hoisted high amongst the spears. Despite her fear, she felt a small thrill of excitement beginning to worm its way into her.

She took one last look at the disappearing refugees. Her sister she could not see among them, but she knew Éowyn was there—she would not disobey a direct order from Théoden.

_All the more reason to fight these Wargs,_ she thought to herself, and turned back to face the approaching animals. She could see them now: Yelping, wild beasts, swarming down the hills, running with a terrifying speed towards the Rohirrim cavalry. For a heart-stopping moment, she thought she would be sick. The old horror was fighting its own battle against her previous exhilaration.

_This is your chance to take your justice upon them! To conquer your fears!_ she reminded herself sternly, just as the horses met Legolas. The Elf had been standing there, firing arrows at the approaching Wargs with his bow from Lothlórien; now she stared, in wide-eyed astonishment, as he gripped Arod's neck and used it to fling himself onto the back of the horse, landing neatly in front of Gimli. He, too, was an experienced rider.

And then a loud cry rang through the air. Théoden had sounded the charge, and now the other men were taking up the call. Ringing metal sounded shrilly in her ears as they all withdrew their swords. Seeing the blades gleaming in the sun, Gúthwyn gulped, knowing that some of their owners would perish on this day.

But even the thought of death could not distract her as the howling of the Wargs grew louder. She was bringing up the rear, and would be the last to face their assault, but any second now the two lines would collide. And when they did…

There was an almighty crash. Seconds later, Gúthwyn could barely tell friend from foe as she was flung into the skirmish. Her heart was pounding in her ribcage as one of the Wargs lunged at her, but no sooner had she started panicking than her arm reached forward and stabbed it right between its eyes. The monster let out a hideous shriek, and she had to duck the swinging sword of its rider.

She wheeled Heorot around, noticing that the steering was not nearly as hard as she had thought it would be. Before the Warg-rider had time to face her, she drove her sword through its back, yanking it out instantaneously. She shuddered when she saw the dark liquid soaking Framwine's blade. _Strong friend,_ she thought, _help me smite those whom I have long feared._

The battle continued. Gúthwyn had a near miss when a horse and its rider collapsed right next to her; she took a quick look at the still face beneath the helmet, and was relieved to see it was not Tun. Then she was attacked from the side. She barely had time to move Heorot out of the way before commencing in a short duel with a Warg-rider. Not ten seconds had passed until she had gotten under his guard and slashed across his chest, causing him to fall to the ground in agony.

The Warg was still alive, however, and this gave her more trouble. It kept lunging forward, taxing even the best of her riding abilities as she was forced to pull Heorot back. She had never fought on horse, and she was still getting used to it. For some reason, the greater part of her terror had disappeared upon getting into battle; it was because of this that she managed to lean closer to the beast, narrowly avoiding its snapping jaws, and stab her sword right through its mouth.

When she yanked the blade out, she was nearly sick again, but forced herself to regain control of her stomach. Three Wargs had she killed already, and the other guards were doing their job effectively. By now, most of the animals were fleeing, carrying their riders with them—they were clinging to the backs of their creatures.

She caught sight of Arod, and then Legolas not two seconds later. The Elf was dismounting, possibly to go after Aragorn: She had seen a Warg dragging him along as she dispatched of her own, but he had not looked in serious harm, as he was attempting to duel with the rider on top.

When one of the last remaining Wargs attacked her, she reared Heorot up above its snarling head. No one was riding it, so when she came down she only had to worry about the beast. Quickly, before it even knew what had happened, and was still staring upwards where Heorot's hooves had been, she drove her sword through its head, cringing as its yellow eyes fixed hers. The next instant, it had fallen to the ground, dead.

Gúthwyn took a quick look around. Théoden's riders were getting off their horses, beginning to search through the bodies. She had been one of the last few people fighting. Now the Wargs were all gone, except those who lay upon the ground. _I killed some of them… they lie there because of me._

Shakily, she dismounted, and the next instant had to cling to Heorot as a wave of powerful nausea swept over her.

"Aragorn!" she heard Legolas called, and turned to see what was happening. Her stomach almost turned over in the process—for a full minute, she had to bend over, one arm curled around her belly. _Breathe,_ she told herself sternly, but her hands were trembling furiously and could not stop. _Breathe!_

When she finally looked up again, now with a film of cold sweat forming on her face, she saw Legolas standing beside Théoden. The two of them were gazing down over the edge of a cliff, where she knew a rushing river lay. As she watched, Gimli came up to join them. Théoden said something to Legolas, and the Elf turned to stare at him. For a long time, the two of them stood there. At length, the king walked away, coming towards her, though he had not seen her yet.

Hastily, she moved behind Heorot, keeping her face from view. It did not matter: She could not go undiscovered for too long. Both she and her horse were too conspicuous. Wondering what to do now, she glanced down at the ground. Her eyes fell on the Warg; such a hideous stench arose that she choked. Unable to stand, she sunk to her knees, placing both of her hands on the grass. The Warg was not two feet from her.

With a great shudder, she began retching. The very arms that were supporting her wobbled dangerously, and for a moment she nearly collapsed. Vomit spewed from her mouth, staining the green; she winced, and retched even more. When she felt two hands on her shoulders, she knew who they belonged to, and gagged horribly. Fear of the Wargs was now not the only thing that made her body quake in terror.

Eventually, she stopped throwing up. Shakily, she looked up, barely suppressing a cry as Legolas' blue eyes met hers.

"What are you doing here?" he questioned, his face paler than usual. Behind him, Heorot swished his tail.

For a full minute, she could not speak. Her breathing was ragged, and at one point she leaned over to spit the last of the bile out of her mouth. "I…" she trailed off hoarsely, but Legolas' hand was still on her shoulder, and she could not concentrate on what she was saying.

"Gúthwyn!" The two of them glanced up to see Tun standing over them. Even though Legolas lowered his hand then, she groaned.

Tun looked overwhelmed with both anger and relief that she had not perished. "What were you thinking?" he asked as she struggled to her feet. "I told you to find Éowyn!"

She flinched, even more so when he took her shoulders and shook them to get her attention. "Gúthwyn!"

"What is going on here?" A stern voice rang out. Before Gúthwyn could remove herself from Tun's grip, Théoden marched over, followed closely by the surviving members of his guard. He stopped short when he saw Gúthwyn.

Gimli joined the group at that point, and he, too, seemed stunned. The rest of the Rohirrim were exchanging uneasy looks.

"Gúthwyn," Théoden said at last, his voice low and trembling, his eyes flashing angrily, "What are you doing here?"

Everyone was staring at her. Tun had let go and was standing off to the side, but she could feel his piercing gaze on her, and inwardly she winced at the scrutiny.

"Do not make me repeat myself," Théoden said. "What are you doing here?" He was actually shaking in fury.

She could not say anything, except: "I killed four of them."

"That is not the point!" he snarled. "You could have died, you could have been wounded—"

"But none of those things happened!" she retorted, slightly stung that he did not think her capable of defending herself. "I know how to fight!"

"Your sister knows how to fight!" Théoden replied. "But I made her stay with the people! Tun!"

Her friend started.

"Why did you not tell her to stay with Éowyn?"

"He did," Gúthwyn replied hastily, not wanting Tun to get in trouble for something she had done on her own. "Twice."

"Then why did you decide not listen to him?" Théoden nearly yelled, taking a step closer to her. "Do you think this a game? Good men have died today, Gúthwyn, yet you flung yourself heedlessly into the peril! Did you not think at all of what your sister and I would have gone through, had you fallen?"

A rush of hot, boiling rage came over her as Théoden scolded her like a child in front of the others. It was because of her that four Wargs lay dead on the ground. But she was being chastised for her deeds!

"I am fully aware that this is not a game, _my lord,_" she growled, her hands curling into fists. "I am not a naïve twelve-year-old anymore!"

"I swore to your mother," Théoden began, seeming to forget the guards that were watching the scene unfold with open mouths, "I swore to Théodwyn, upon her deathbed, that I would protect you!"

"Then why were you sitting idly on your throne," Gúthwyn demanded, "when I needed your _protection_ the most?"

The instant the words slipped through her lips, she regretted saying them. Théoden looked as though he had been slapped. His face turned pale, and she saw his eyes widen in horror. There was a collective intake of breath from the guards.

She could not believe she had said that to her uncle. He had not deserved it. "I-I am sorry," she whispered, unable to meet his eyes. "I did not mean—"

"Get on the horse," Théoden said, but he was not angry: On the contrary, his shoulders were slumped, and he appeared more tired than ever.

Gúthwyn did not move. "I—"

"Gúthwyn, do it," he ordered, and she did not dare disobey him. Under the shocked gaze of everyone else, she turned to mount Heorot. Then she stopped, realizing something.

"Where is Aragorn?" she asked, glancing at Legolas.

His face was full of grief, and before she had time to register what that meant she saw that he clutched something in his hand. Slowly, he opened it up to reveal a necklace, the very one that she had seen Aragorn wear on the day of their departure from Rivendell. Gúthwyn felt her breath catch in her throat.

"He fell," Legolas said, and his voice was choked with sadness such as she had never heard in the Elf.

Her head twisted wildly around to look at the group of people surrounding her, needing to ascertain for herself that the Ranger was not there. "Dead?" she gasped when she did not see him, and looked to Théoden for confirmation.

The king said, grimly, "A Warg took him over the cliff."

Gúthwyn felt her face turn white as she swiveled around, staring at the place where Aragorn had taken his fall. Just before the edge lay a Warg-rider, presumably the owner of the Warg who had been the Ranger's doom. Her eyes traveled over the countless battle scars, noting how he alone of the riders did not have full protection, and then remembered that cruel face leering at her from the darkness…

She lunged for Sharkû, but Legolas caught her before she had gone more than a foot. "He is dead," the Elf said as she struggled against him. His grip on her arm was too tight, and at length she gave up.

"Let go of me!" she snarled, angry at herself for being so powerless against him.

"He has told us all that he knew," Legolas answered, though he quickly released her and stepped a respectful distance away. "This was in his hand." He held up the necklace.

For a long time, she looked at it. Aragorn had never been a close friend, and he had interrogated her cruelly, but he had merely wanted to do what was right. A great burden was on him, and she had only added to it with her troubles. Now, she sorely wished that she had gotten to know him better.

Suddenly filled with sorrow, she turned away from Legolas. Théoden was watching her. "I do not want to repeat myself," he said, pointing half-heartedly at Heorot. "Aragorn has gone to the halls of his fathers, but we must make haste to Helm's Deep. We are leaving the dead behind."

Gúthwyn made to follow his commands, her stomach churning at the thought of those unfortunate Rohirric men who would never receive a proper burial, and instead be eaten by scavenging Wargs when the beasts were brave enough to return. As she put a hand on Heorot and prepared to mount them, Tun's sympathetic gaze met hers. She felt foolish now for riding out to fight with the men, when she was bound to have been discovered, and looked away.


	17. Preparing For War

**The Rohan Pride Trilogy**

**Part Two: Reunions**

**Book Two**

**By: WhiteLadyOfTroy**

**Summary:  
**Gúthwyn's mission has failed. Now that she is traveling with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to find the Hobbits, she finds herself being confronted with her past, as well as some painful experiences in the present.

**About the Trilogy:  
**I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. _The Fellowship of the Ring_ had two books within the text, as did _The Two Towers_ and _The Return of the King_. The only change I have made is the first part in my trilogy: Alone. That was divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where _The Fellowship of the Ring_ started. Reunions will be divided into two books.

**About Chapter Seventeen:  
**As always, I will be using a blend of both movie and book canon. Sorry for any confusion. Please correct me on anything that seems amiss, out-of-character, or non-canon. Also, I know nothing of sword fighting, so some of the upcoming scenes may seem ludicrous to experts. Feel free to point out any blatant errors. Finally, just an advance warning: Lately, my chapters have been bouncing back and forth between extremely long or rather short.

**Chapter Seventeen**

The ride to Helm's Deep was grim. Gúthwyn was in the middle of the guards, next to Tun, but the two of them hardly exchanged a word as the lands flew by. Ahead of her, she could see Théoden's back, stern and forbidding, the owner of which clearly would not forget her latest exploit anytime soon. Without any refugees to slow the group down, they soon arrived at their destination. There, Gúthwyn nearly forgot all of her troubles as she stared in awe at the fortress.

Built by the men of Gondor in years long past, the place had been named after the war hero Helm, who had successfully defended it from the Dunlendings during the Long Winter. Helm's Deep was comprised of the Hornburg, the fortress upon the Hornrock that reared its stone peak against the mountains; the Deeping Wall, extending from the Hornburg to the other end of the valley, its top wide enough for four men to walk alongside each other on it; the Deeping Stream, flowing out from behind the Deeping Wall through a small culvert in its otherwise smooth surface; and finally, the Glittering Caves, glorious in all their splendor.

All of this was by far smaller than Sauron's fortifications in Mordor, but Gúthwyn halted Heorot all the same and gaped at it. If this was to be where she was going to live, for however long until Saruman withdrew his troops from the Mark, she could not have imagined a more exciting place. Even her eyes, nowhere near as keen as Legolas', could see the bustling of activity along the Deeping Wall. A thrill of excitement raced through her.

The guards began moving down the hill they had checked their horses at, and Gúthwyn followed them down into the gorge. It was almost entirely flat, with the exception of the Deeping Stream that they easily forded. Théoden led them towards a long, curved ramp that would bring them into the Hornburg. Everyone in the group could hear the shouts of the people, joyously relieved at the safe return of their king.

Gúthwyn found herself riding up the ramp along with the others, marveling at the sight of the ground falling beneath her. She barely had time to wonder what lay behind the barred doors of the Hornburg before Gamling called, "Make way for Théoden! Make way for the King!"

The doors were pulled open, and less than a second later Gúthwyn had entered the fortress of Helm's Deep. People were hastily parting, clearing a path for their king and his men. Several of them stared at Gúthwyn as she passed, unsure whether or not to believe their own eyes. She herself was amazed at her new surroundings. High walls of stone loomed over her, and when Théoden turned his horse to lead them up a small flight of short stairs, it felt as if there was no end to it. _How on Middle-earth could Saruman ever hope to take this place?_ she wondered. To her, it seemed akin to Isengard: Vast, imposing, and utterly impregnable.

They came onto a landing where a great crowd had gathered. Gúthwyn saw her own sister, running towards them with a worried expression. Éowyn did not seem to see her as she approached Théoden, who was dismounting his horse.

"So few," she said, and though her voice was low Gúthwyn could hear it clearly. "So few of you have returned."

"Our people are safe," Théoden replied, helping a wounded man off of Snowmane. "We have paid for it with many lives."

A frown came over Éowyn's face. "Uncle, I have not seen Gúthwyn since the Wargs attacked."

Now Théoden, too, was frowning. "Do not worry," he said, "for she is here."

Gúthwyn dismounted, and then Éowyn saw her. She felt a horrible twist of guilt as her sister's eyes widened, then looked to her uncle.

"She fought?" Éowyn asked, unable to conceal her resentment. Now, more than anything, Gúthwyn regretted following the men out to defend her people.

"I did not find out until after the battle," Théoden replied, looking sternly at Gúthwyn. "It was not with my permission that she went."

Éowyn no longer appeared as angry as she had a few seconds ago, but disappointment was still on her face. For a moment, her eyes met Gúthwyn's, and she could not long meet her older sister's gaze.

At that moment, however, Gimli approached Éowyn. "My lady," he said, his voice low and grievous.

Gúthwyn looked away. She did not want to see the Dwarf tell Éowyn that Aragorn had perished—she knew how it would affect her sister. Instead, she turned to Théoden. "Uncle," she began, but he was already moving away from her, going to speak with Gamling. Háma had not returned.

"You should help your sister with the food," someone told her, and she glanced over to see Tun dismounting next to her.

"What are you going to do?" she asked him, drawing closer as a group of people shuffled their way by her.

"I will report to Théoden, and do what it is he desires of me," Tun replied.

"Do you think there will be a battle?" she wanted to know, searching his eyes anxiously for that which he might lie about, if he did not wish to alarm her.

But there was no deception in his gaze, which met hers evenly as he said, "I do not know. Yet if it comes, rest assured that we will be ready."

He touched her arm briefly before walking away. She watched him go for a time, and then turned to find her sister. It was not hard to spot her: Éowyn was standing utterly still, her hands frozen at her sides. Her face was pale, and trembling lips were opened wide in shock.

"Éowyn?" she asked gently, coming up beside her and placing a hand on her shoulder. Éowyn's horror-stricken eyes focused on her, and in that moment Gúthwyn knew that her sister had loved Aragorn.

Such was Éowyn's grief that neither of them spoke of it. At length, she took a deep breath. "Come," she said, her voice wavering for a brief instant before strengthening. "We will bring the food into the caves. There is little of it, but it will last."

Gúthwyn nodded, relieved that she did not eat as much as most, and followed her sister through the narrow court. It was thronged with people, some of whom were sitting down, grateful to have some rest at last. Others were wandering around, trying to find relatives or friends. Several of them called out to her and Éowyn as they passed, and the two sisters were soon assuring the Rohirrim that Helm's Deep was well-provisioned, should battle befall them, and that no army had of yet been sighted.

They went down a small passageway, and came to a larger opening where a great store of food had been placed. Gúthwyn's heart fell when she saw that, despite the number of barrels and crates, it would not be enough to feed the people for more than a week, no matter how careful they were with their rations.

"How long are they expecting us to last?" she murmured to Éowyn, picking up a basket of apples.

"Théoden does not think Saruman will assault us long, for the Hornburg has never fallen to enemies," Éowyn replied, hoisting a sack of bread over her shoulder. Her face was still white.

The two of them were silent as they moved through the fortress. Éowyn was leading, as Gúthwyn knew next to nothing about the Hornburg, and her way about was certainly not part of that limited knowledge. Ever and anon, they caught sight of Théoden on one of the ramparts, discussing with his guards the best defenses for the Deeping Wall. Legolas and Gimli were always with them. Gúthwyn longed to be up there, instead of carting food back and forth, but in her uncle's eyes she had had enough excitement for the day.

When they entered the Caves, she stopped short and stared around in amazement. They were not called the Glittering Caves for nothing. Everywhere she turned, something was sparkling at her, like countless jewels in a rocky grave. Long extensions of rock hung down or reached up from both the ceiling and the ground, most of them several times bigger than she was.

"This is incredible," she breathed, and despite herself, Éowyn smiled to see her wonder.

"I felt the same when I first came here," she replied. Gúthwyn glanced down, thinking that she had missed that trip as well, and sobered instantly. Éowyn detected her change of mood, and said quickly, "We should keep going."

They made their way to a small corner of the Caves, where a great pile of food had already been started. Adding what they carried to the heap, they turned around and prepared to go back. Occasionally, they encountered one of the refugees, and more reassurances were issued.

In this manner, they spent the next several hours. It was boring beyond anything that she had ever done. Only their brief glimpses of Théoden were of interest, though he never called down to them. More than once, Legolas caught her eye, but she always turned away in fear. Each time she did this, Éowyn gave her a strange look. Yet she did not say anything, and for that Gúthwyn was grateful. She did not want to have to explain her terror of the Elf; the full reasons were too humiliating. The abridged version she had given was satisfying enough, with the added bonus of no one knowing what she had truly done.

At one point, as she and Éowyn were coming back to get more food, they heard a great commotion in the court. "What do you suppose that is?" Gúthwyn asked, her walk instinctively speeding up. She glanced at her sister, but Éowyn merely shrugged. Ever since the news of Aragorn's death, she had hardly spoken a word. _It was probably for the best,_ Gúthwyn found herself thinking. Even though she missed the Ranger, and wished they had known each other better, she would not have liked to see her sister's face when she learned of Arwen, still waiting faithfully back at Rivendell.

When they returned to the dwindling food pile, they saw a young boy standing there, at a loss for what to do. He was about thirteen or so, and Gúthwyn thought he looked familiar, though he would have only been half her age when she was captured. There were tear streaks on his face, and when they came closer he tried to hide them by turning away.

"Haleth?" Éowyn asked gently, and the boy stiffened. "The son of Háma," she muttered to Gúthwyn. A cold chill washed over the younger sister as the boy faced them once more. He had wiped his eyes, but the tears were still there, in the hollow pupils of one who has just lost a parent. Gúthwyn prayed that no one had told them what his father's corpse looked like—she had seen it just before the Rohirrim left to go to Helm's Deep. It was only recognizable by the flaming red hair. Tun had told her the story in whispers at the beginning of their ride, and it was as terrible as the mangled body that would soon serve as a hungry Warg's dinner.

Éowyn gave Haleth a soft smile. "How are you?" she inquired, and he shrugged morosely, sitting down on a barrel and slumping over. Gúthwyn could see the tears threatening to fall, and wondered if it had been that noticeable when she herself was in such a position.

Haleth suddenly straightened, staring at Gúthwyn. "I heard that you fought," he told her. "What happened to my father? They say only that he is dead." As he spoke, his face contorted, and Gúthwyn glance down at her hands to give him some time to compose himself. When she looked up again, his eyes were dry, but a new tear streak was on his cheeks.

She sighed. It would be one thing if Háma had fallen defending the king, or fighting valiantly against the Wargs. But that had not happened. "Do you remember when he went scouting with Gamling?" she asked Haleth, and he nodded.

"Gamling has returned," he replied, frowning.

Once more, Gúthwyn sighed, hating to be the bearer of grim news. "They were taken at unawares by the Wargs. Gamling was behind your father, and managed to escape, but Háma…" She trailed off.

"W-Will the Wargs return?" Haleth asked, his voice wavering violently before he could rear it under control. Gúthwyn exchanged glances with Éowyn, and then nodded.

"I am sorry," she whispered, her heart twisting for this poor boy.

Haleth really did begin crying then. The sobs shook his body as buried his face in his hands and wept, regardless of his surroundings. Hesitantly, Gúthwyn sat down on another barrel beside him, wrapping a comforting arm about his shoulders. Haleth cried even harder, past the point of trying to conceal it. "Your father was a brave man," she murmured consolingly, putting her head close to his and speaking into his ear. "I did not know him as long as I would have liked to, but his prowess on the field has been surpassed by few."

Such words mean little to a boy who has just lost his father, but Gúthwyn said them all the same. Gradually, Haleth's tears began to slow. She looked up at Éowyn, hoping to surreptitiously ask where the boy's mother was, but her sister's attention had been diverted. She was gazing to a set of doors that led to the inner court, and thus to the tower. Before them stood Legolas, speaking with… Aragorn.

Gúthwyn's breath caught in her throat, but at that moment Haleth stopped crying. She looked back at him, and he seemed embarrassed for letting her see his weakness.

"Do not be ashamed," she told him kindly, standing up and patting him on the shoulder. "Everyone grieves in their life."

"Thank you, my lady," Haleth said quietly to the stone floor.

"Please," she answered, "call me Gúthwyn."

He nodded, and she asked, "Where is your mother?"

Haleth scanned the crowd. His eyes soon focused on someone. "I see her now," he replied, and with a small bow he had left her. Gúthwyn did not watch him go, for she hastily turned back to where she had seen Aragorn. He was still there, and not a hallucination. She felt her mouth drop open. This was one persistent Ranger. How had he managed to survive falling off of a cliff and into a raging river? And how had he gotten to Helm's Deep? Hasufel had perished in the battle.

As she watched Aragorn and Legolas, the Elf extended his hand, opening it to reveal the necklace. Aragorn's eyes widened at the sight of it, and the tenderness with which he took it was as a whip cracking on Éowyn's heart. Gúthwyn could see her sister stiffen as the Ranger took his token of Arwen's love, as she knew it must have been, and wished more than anything that Éowyn had not had to see that.

Aragorn went past Legolas then, going into the inner court, and Éowyn did not wait another second before all but running to the Elf. Gúthwyn followed at a slower pace, her reluctance to come near Legolas battling with her desire to know what had happened to Aragorn.

"How did Lord Aragorn survive?" her sister was asking as Gúthwyn drew nearer. Legolas' eyes briefly met hers before he answered.

"Brego found him, and brought him back."

"Brego?" both she and Éowyn echoed, and Gúthwyn whirled around to see her cousin's horse being led away by a stableboy. There was no stable at Helm's Deep, of course, but there was a broad room filled with hay somewhere that the horses were put into. Yet Éowyn had told her, during the beginning of the journey to the fortress, that at Théodred's death Brego had gone wild. Eventually, on the advice of Aragorn, they had set him free.

When she turned back to Legolas, he was nodding. "And now he has gone to speak with the king—he says he has tidings."

Gúthwyn wanted to hear them. "Come!" she said to Éowyn. "Théoden might try to protect us, but I for one do not want the wool to be pulled over my eyes. I would know the truth about what is going on in this land."

"Perhaps you should wait," Legolas started, stepping forward. Instinctively, she recoiled.

"I did not ask your opinion," she snarled, and both the Elf and her sister blinked.

"Yes, let us go," Éowyn said at length, breaking the awkward silence. "Come."

Éowyn began leading her towards the doors; much to Gúthwyn's disappointment, Legolas followed. She quickened her pace to catch up with her sister. "What do you think Aragorn's news might be?" she asked.

"I do not know," Éowyn replied, but her eyes were sparkling with anticipation. The two sisters passed through the inner court, where only the king's guard and some of the soldiers were. None of the men made to stop them as they went, and Gúthwyn was secretly relieved to see that Tun was not there. In any other circumstance she would have welcomed his company, but she had quickly garnered the impression that her champion was a fiercely protective man.

For a brief instant they paused in front of the doors leading into the tower, which were partly open. Two guards were patrolling in front of it, but as soon as they recognized them they bowed them through. Éowyn and Gúthwyn slipped inside to stand within a stone arch that had been built into the wall, while Legolas moved forward to join Aragorn and Gimli. The Ranger alone marked that two women had entered the tower.

There had been a lull in the conversation, and Gúthwyn took the moment to glance around her. They were in a hall, nowhere near as big as that in Meduseld. Nor was it covered in paintings of famous Riders' deeds, the most notable of which depicted Eorl the Young, coming down from the North to join the Battle of the Fields of Celebrant. There was a smaller throne, not raised upon a dais, but set back into the far wall. In one thing was it similar to Meduseld: There was very little light. The few rays of sun coming through were from dusty windows set high above, leaving large shapes on the stone floor. Torches had been lit in numerous brackets on the walls, but they only served to lengthen the shadows. Aside from the throne, the only furniture in the hall was four tables, one of which was currently being used to plan strategies: She could see the maps on its wooden surface.

At that moment, Théoden's voice rang throughout the hall, echoing off the stone. "A great host, you say?" he asked, turning to look at Aragorn. The Ranger was standing, as was his wont, with his arms folded across his chest, but at the king's words he let them hang by his side.

"All Isengard is emptied," he replied, and for half a second glanced at Gúthwyn and Éowyn. Gúthwyn saw her sister straighten.

"How many?" Théoden wanted to know. Gúthwyn imagined five thousand, perhaps, at most. When she had left Isengard, there had been hundreds of Uruk-hai within the Nan Curunír, but Saruman could have easily increased that number tenfold. The Rohirrim would be vastly outnumbered: There were only a few hundred of them.

Yet she was not prepared for Aragorn's answer. "Ten thousand strong at least."

Gúthwyn felt the breath leave her body. _Ten thousand?_ How could that be possible? How could ten thousand Uruks live in Isengard, alongside all the slaves? Surely Aragorn had overestimated Saruman's forces. She exchanged worried looks with Éowyn.

"Ten _thousand?_" Théoden echoed, taking a step toward Aragorn and not seeming as if he wanted to believe him. Legolas and Gimli were watching the conversation with narrowed eyes, and mouths slightly open.

"It is an army bred for a single purpose," Aragorn confirmed, and Gúthwyn found herself leaning heavily against the wall. "To destroy the world of Men."

Théoden's face paled as Aragorn continued. "They will be here by nightfall."

Nightfall! That was less than a few hours away—fighting here, in Helm's Deep. Gúthwyn's mind was working furiously. The women and children would be sent to the caves, in hopes of taking the mountain passes out should the battle be lost. Éowyn would be in charge of leading them, as she had been taught all of these cautions… but Gúthwyn would be forced into the caves with her, instead of defending her people.

She made her resolution at the same time Théoden made his. "Let them come," the king declared, striding forward to the doors. Gúthwyn's lips curled into a smile.


	18. Careful Planning

**The Rohan Pride Trilogy**

**Part Two: Reunions**

**Book Two**

**By: WhiteLadyOfTroy**

**Summary:  
**Gúthwyn's mission has failed. Now that she is traveling with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to find the Hobbits, she finds herself being confronted with her past, as well as some painful experiences in the present.

**About the Trilogy:  
**I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. _The Fellowship of the Ring_ had two books within the text, as did _The Two Towers_ and _The Return of the King_. The only change I have made is the first part in my trilogy: Alone. That was divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where _The Fellowship of the Ring_ started. Reunions will be divided into two books.

**About Chapter Eighteen:  
**As always, I will be using a blend of both movie and book canon. Sorry for any confusion. Please correct me on anything that seems amiss, out-of-character, or non-canon. Also, I know nothing of sword fighting, so some of the upcoming scenes may seem ludicrous to experts. Feel free to point out any blatant errors. Finally, just an advance warning: Lately, my chapters have been bouncing back and forth between extremely long or rather short.

**Chapter Eighteen**

As the king passed through the doors, followed closely by his guard, Gúthwyn and Éowyn flattened themselves against the shadowy wall. They remained unnoticed until Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli went by. Both Aragorn and Legolas looked directly at the two sisters.

Éowyn stepped out. "My lord," she said to Aragorn, "it pleases me greatly to know that you are safe."

He nodded, and Gúthwyn could not read the expression in his eyes. "Thank you," he replied. "Yet it will not last long, as you are well aware."

At last triumphing, for a brief time, over her fear of Legolas, Gúthwyn moved closer to the four of them. "There are only a few hundred of us, Aragorn," she told the Ranger. "How do you expect us to defend the Hornburg?"

He clearly noted her use of the word 'us,' as opposed to 'the men.' "There is always hope," he told her, "and if nothing else, we will be prepared. I would suggest finding the king and doing what it is he wishes of you."

Gúthwyn knew fully well that he meant that they were to go into the caves. Her face colored angrily, but she did not respond.

As if reading her mind, Aragorn gave a wry smile. "I heard you fought against the Wargs."

She nodded curtly. "I took pleasure in getting revenge."

"And overcoming your fear?"

Aragorn's words lashed out at her, though he had not intended them to be cruel. Her face grew heated under the gaze of Legolas, and she found herself clenching and unclenching her fists. "You speak incorrectly," she managed, meeting Éowyn's curious eyes for only a second. "The cage did nothing to me."

It was a lie, and they all knew it, but neither Aragorn, Legolas, nor Gimli mentioned anything about Moria.

"Come," Éowyn said at last. "There is much to do on the eve of battle. We must find Théoden, or someone who can say what he would have us do."

The five of them went through the doors into the inner court, Gúthwyn still trembling slightly from Aragorn's comment. Once they had passed into the outer court, it did not take them long to locate the king: He was heading out of the fortress, onto the ramp where he could arrange the defenses. Gamling and two other guards were with him; Tun was the third.

"My lady!" The call had both Éowyn and Gúthwyn turning, unsure of whom was being referred to. It must have been Éowyn, for Gúthwyn did not recognize the woman who now stood before them.

"Yes, Cwen?"

As Éowyn spoke with the woman, Gúthwyn stood on her tiptoes and craned her neck to see Théoden, wondering what he was ordering for the defenses of Helm's Deep. Yet she could hear nothing over the noise of the crowd, and when at length the king returned into the fortress, she was not informed of what was going on. Instead, Théoden walked by her with only a small smile; Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli all nodded as they went. A twinge of fear entered her when the Elf glanced at her, and she turned away.

"Gúthwyn, we should finish getting the food into the caves," Éowyn told her then, and she blinked. Her stomach was beginning to feel uneasy.

"Do you mind if I go outside for a moment?" she asked, taking a deep breath. Éowyn looked puzzled, and more than a little suspicious. "Only onto the ramp," she explained.

"Be careful," Éowyn cautioned, her voice guarded.

"I will," Gúthwyn promised, and then started walking towards the doors. Two sentinels were just starting to close them, but when they saw her they allowed her to pass through. She strode out onto the ramp, staring up into the cloudy sky. Night would cover the Deeping-coomb in less than two hours; she was already shivering in the cool air.

Her gaze was turned to the northeast, where Saruman's forces would be coming from. For the first time in many a month, her mind wandered back to Isengard, trying to imagine how the other slaves were doing. Were they all still alive and healthy? The eldest, Abaudia, had not had a great number of years left in her, but the woman was remarkably fit for someone her age.

She missed them. Sure, she had had her quarrels with some of them—namely Lebryn—but she would have given most of what she owned to see them again. Especially Cobryn, who had become one of her best friends. To both he and Borogor, she owed her life. Without their protection, her body would long ago have been laid to rest in a chilly grave, soon to be forgotten in the dust.

A harsh, croaking noise took her out of her musings. Startled, Gúthwyn saw a flock of black birds swooping around the fortress, a few of them coming within five yards of her before wheeling off into the sky. She tensed as she realized that they were the Crebain from Dunland, the birds that Saruman employed to spy on his enemies.

Wrapping her arms around her stomach, she retreated back into the archway where the guards stood. "When did they get here?" she asked one of the men, glancing up nervously at the dark specks soaring amongst the clouds.

His face was grim when he answered her. "Just a little while ago, my lady. They make my blood run cold."

She nodded, wincing as one of the Crebain let out a particularly shrill cry. "Do you think that the army follows not far behind?"

The guard looked shocked that she had heard those tidings. "Yes," he said, once he had gotten over his surprise. In spite of his calm tone, Gúthwyn saw fear entering his eyes. He must have been informed of the number.

"I wish you the best of luck," she told him, and she meant it. As he gave his thanks, her skin crawled to think that she might not see him again. Victory seemed near hopeless, that was for sure.

Feeling vastly uneasier than she had a few minutes ago, Gúthwyn went back into the fortress. The stone walls closed about her, and she suddenly wished herself in a big field, with the sky as her boundaries and nothing but the rushing wind in her ears. But before this fantasy could take root, she banished it away, as this was not the time for such daydreaming.

She was weaving through the throng in an attempt to find Éowyn when someone called her name. Turning, her eyes fell upon Tun. Her friend was making his way towards her. "Théoden has ordered the women and children into the caves," he said when he reached her. Even as he spoke, she was forced to move closer to him to avoid being jostled by a swiftly moving crowd.

Gúthwyn had known that this would happen. She had also worked her way around that snag. But she did not want to say farewell to Tun just yet. The knowledge that her champion might not return to her tore at her heart, even as she tried to deny it. "Will you walk with me there?" she inquired, praying that he would say yes.

"Of course," he replied.

The two of them followed the rest of the Rohirrim, speaking little. A thousand things were in Gúthwyn's mind that she could tell her long lost friend. Only a few days she had spent with him since her return to Rohan; it grieved her to know that there might not be more. Yet despite all that she wanted to say to him, her mouth failed her, and the words would not come.

Eventually they came to the entrance of the Glittering Caves, where Gúthwyn immediately spotted Éowyn. Her sister was conversing with Aragorn; behind them was Legolas, listening intently to their talk while ushering people toward the caves. As always, Gúthwyn cringed at the sight of the Elf, instinctively moving closer to Tun. Her friend shot her a curious look.

"I am to be sent with the women into the caves," Éowyn lamented. Though Gúthwyn knew that it was wrong to be eavesdropping, especially on what was swiftly appearing to be a conversation that Éowyn would not want her to hear, she could not move even if she wanted to: There was a temporary blockage in front of the caves.

"That is an honorable charge," Aragorn assured Éowyn, pity in his eyes. For a moment, Gúthwyn wanted to slap him. The Ranger clearly understood nothing of what it was like to be a woman, forced to wait for news of victory or defeat in a battle.

"To mind the children!" Éowyn retorted, looking as exasperated as Gúthwyn felt. "To find food and bedding when the men return! What renown is there in that?"

Tun glanced at her, but Gúthwyn's gaze was fixed on Aragorn as he answered, "My lady, a time may come for valor without renown. Who then will look to your people in their last defense?"

"Let me stand at your side," Éowyn said in response. Gúthwyn could only see the back of her sister's head, but she knew that her sister's face was utterly serious. It was the closest she had ever seen her come to pleading.

"It is not in my power to command it," Aragorn said, appearing genuinely sorry about Éowyn's distress.

"You do not command the others to stay!" Éowyn exclaimed, her entire body stiffening with frustration. "They fight beside you because they would not be parted from you. Because they love you!"

Gúthwyn's eyes widened, as did those of Tun and Legolas. Éowyn took a step back, realizing what she had said. Only Aragorn remained unchanged; for a brief instant, something had stirred in his face, but just as quickly it was gone.

"I-I am sorry," Éowyn breathed, then hastily turned away. Before anyone could say anything, she had disappeared into the crowd, her head bowed in embarrassment and her shoulders tense. For a long time Aragorn watched her, the expression on his face unreadable.

Legolas returned then, and the Ranger glanced somberly over at him. Gúthwyn cringed, hating that the Elf had undoubtedly witnessed the entire scene. It was bad enough that he had seen her in her weakness; now, he had to watch that of her sister's as well.

Then, both Aragorn and Legolas caught sight of her, standing beside Tun.

"Are you ready?" Legolas asked her quietly, and she ignored him, looking at her friend. He was silent.

Then she had flung her arms around the guard, crushing his muscular frame to her thin one. Tun seemed startled at first, but swiftly recovered. She felt two arms lightly touching her waist. "Good luck!" she whispered fervently, sending a fierce prayer to the Valar for his safety. "Our time together has been too brief, my friend."

"Do not worry," he told her, evidently enjoying the feel of her warmth. Gúthwyn did not care much, for he had been her best friend since she was but five years old, and if his mind wandered now she was in no danger of straying with it.

"Take care," she replied, beginning to pull away. "I expect to see you at the entrance to the caves when the battle has been won."

"If it is the will of the Valar," Tun said. His eyes were locked on hers, and she read sorrow there beneath his brave façade. "Gúthwyn…"

"Yes?"

His voice trembled, though it was so imperceptible that at first she doubted that she had noticed it. "If I do not, however, return… will you make sure that my mother does not see my body?"

"I promise," she murmured seriously, and stepped out of the embrace. He smiled, the vulnerability hidden once more.

"A thousand thanks. May the Valar be with you."

She took one last look at him, standing there in his armor, with the fine green cloak across his shoulders. He had removed his helmet, and she could see his golden hair tumbling down the sides of his sturdy face, slightly disarrayed from her farewell. Warm brown eyes were watching her blue ones; then, the corners of his lips tugged upwards, and he turned away.

Sighing, Gúthwyn glanced back at Aragorn and Legolas. They were still waiting for her, their expressions unchanged by what they had seen. A slight flush came over her face, but she went to them anyway.

"They are about to seal off the caves," Aragorn said. "Though I know it is not your will, you should go now."

She grimaced, but was not too troubled. "Then I shall," she replied, "and I wish you a safe return."

He inclined his head. "Thank you."

Repressing a shiver, Gúthwyn looked at Legolas. "Y-You, too," she said, dropping her eyes as she spoke.

"We will meet again, of that I am sure," the Elf told her.

Gúthwyn's eyes met his for an instant, and then she gave a shaky smile before leaving the two friends. She began making her way to the caves, passing by Gimli as she did so. "Fare thee well!" she called to the Dwarf. "I hope that the grey stone turns black from Orcs slaughtered at the merciless blade of your axe!"

"I will not disappoint you, my lady," Gimli assured her, grinning determinedly. Gúthwyn returned the gesture, then followed the crowd into the caves. Most of the women and children were gathered around the entrance, staring in awe at the unnatural formations, but she had seen them already and was not as affected by their presence. She soon saw Éowyn's figure, standing not too far in the distance.

"Éowyn?" she asked as she neared her sister, not wishing to disturb what might have been a private moment. Yet when Éowyn looked at her, her face was quite calm.

"Do you have your pack with you?" Éomund's older daughter questioned. It was the opening that Gúthwyn had been waiting for. With a cry of dismay, she clapped her hands over her face.

"I knew I was forgetting something!" she moaned, and hastily started moving away.

"Wait!" Éowyn exclaimed, taking her by the arm and stopping her. "You cannot go now! They will close the caves in less than ten minutes!"

"I will be back by then," Gúthwyn said. "I know exactly where I left it. Please, Éowyn, I cannot leave it out there!" Beregil's poems were at the bottom of the bag.

Éowyn seemed reluctant, but at length she released her. "Hurry!"

"I will!" Gúthwyn called over her shoulder, holding her dress off of the ground as she ran. Some of the people stared at her as she sprinted to the entrance, but she ignored them.

When she emerged from the caves, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli had already left. Breathing a sigh of relief, she ducked into a small passage. Soon she found the barrel that she was looking for, and lifted the top to reveal Borogor's pack. She had stashed it there less than an hour ago, along with her sword and a spare cloak she had grabbed from the ground.

In mere seconds, the cloak was wrapped around Framwine, disguising the blade from even the most keen-eyed, and she was making her way out of the passage. Her feet were leading her not to the caves, but to the armory.


	19. Donning Armor

**The Rohan Pride Trilogy**

**Part Two: Reunions**

**Book Two**

**By: WhiteLadyOfTroy**

**Summary:  
**Gúthwyn's mission has failed. Now that she is traveling with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to find the Hobbits, she finds herself being confronted with her past, as well as some painful experiences in the present.

**About the Trilogy:  
**I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. _The Fellowship of the Ring_ had two books within the text, as did _The Two Towers_ and _The Return of the King_. The only change I have made is the first part in my trilogy: Alone. That was divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where _The Fellowship of the Ring_ started. Reunions will be divided into two books.

**About Chapter Nineteen:  
**As always, I will be using a blend of both movie and book canon. Sorry for any confusion. Please correct me on anything that seems amiss, out-of-character, or non-canon. Also, I know nothing of sword fighting, so some of the upcoming scenes may seem ludicrous to experts. Feel free to point out any blatant errors. Finally, just an advance warning: Lately, my chapters have been bouncing back and forth between extremely long or rather short.

**Chapter Nineteen**

In her journey through the Hornburg, Gúthwyn met hardly anyone. This was due mainly to the fact that she used some of the lesser-known routes that Éowyn had shown her—then, they had made bringing food to the caves easier, as they did not encounter much traffic. Now, she employed them to her advantage, and only passed by one of Théoden's guards.

As soon as she heard footsteps approaching from around the corner, she ducked into a shadowy arch and flattened herself against the wall. Seconds later, the guard walked by her, putting his helmet on as he went. She did not recognize him, but a quick prayer for his well being was sent from her to the Valar nevertheless.

When the guard had disappeared from the passage, she crept forward to the armory, now doubly cautious. All of the men had been ordered there an hour ago, and as there were not many they should have received their weapons by now. But there would no doubt be complications in finding armor, especially as many of the boys were small (to say nothing of Gimli), and some of them might still be readying themselves.

She was within fifteen feet of the armory when its door suddenly opened, nearly bouncing back off of the wall. Hastily, she hid behind a large cluster of crates. The outer court, where the men were to report to Théoden for instructions, was not in such a location that anyone would have to walk by her in order to reach it, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

It was Aragorn who had left the armory, striding out swiftly and disappearing into another passage. He was not going to the outer court; Gúthwyn wondered what was wrong. Only a brief glimpse of his face had she seen, but he was frowning, and his eyes looked troubled. His back disappeared from her view, strong and forbidding even as it faded into the darkness.

A throng of men came out not long after that. It appeared to be all of the army; something must have happened to cause them delay. Not one of them glanced over to where Gúthwyn was hidden as they moved towards the outer court. She saw some boys among them, ones who could not have been that much older than Hammel, and winced to see their terrified faces. A few of them were already struggling under the weight of their armor.

Bringing up the rear of the group were Legolas and Gimli. She cringed as the Elf emerged, and instinctively flattened herself as far against the wall as possible. He did not notice her, however; indeed, he seemed to be preoccupied with something. Neither he nor Gimli spoke to each other, which was odd, as it was near impossible to be next to the Dwarf and not find yourself engaged in a lengthy conversation.

Long after they had gone, Gúthwyn waited, making sure that there were no stragglers left in the armory. Ten minutes passed. Cautiously, she straightened, stepping out from behind the crates. Holding her breath, she edged along the hall, praying that she would not be caught. To have to be sent back to the caves now would be nothing short of a disgrace. She would lose the trust of both her uncle and Éowyn; her sister was the only one she cared about, but she would not risk her anger for anything in the world.

To her immense relief, there was no one in the armory. As quick as she might, she slipped inside it, going to the small pile of leftover armor. She removed her dress, sliding it over her head and stuffing it into Borogor's bag. Before they had left Edoras, she had made sure to be wearing leggings and a tunic beneath it. A little breath that she had not known she had been holding escaped her. Those dresses were certainly stuffy after a time.

For a moment, Gúthwyn stood there, unsure of what armor to choose. She rarely wore it, preferring to fight without restriction, but it would be nothing short of suicide to face an army of ten thousand in only her clothing. A helmet would be needed, at the least. Rooting around in the pile, she at last located one small enough, with the extra bonus of having straps beneath the chin.

Setting it to the side, she attempted to find a hauberk. These were shirts of mail, occasionally edged with leather, that protected the entire torso. The sleeves were rarely full, but they were a great comfort when going out to battle. She had some trouble finding one, as most of the hauberks that she picked up had gaping holes in them. At length, however, she picked out one that was about her size, with only a tiny rent in the stomach area.

Pulling it on over her head, she winced at the extra weight, though it was not as bad as she had imagined. It did not seem to restrict her movement; she waved her arms a few times, and made several pretend strikes with a sword. At the very least, should Théoden order the arrangement of the cavalry, it would not slow down her horse.

Gúthwyn then examined the rest of the pile, but there was nothing to guard her legs from low strikes or skittering arrows. It was probably just as well: She felt far less restricted than she would have if she had worn a pair of greaves or a cuisse. Yet she did grab a pair of tall boots, knowing that her own were too worn to be guaranteed protection. They came nearly up to her knees, and in spite of the looming danger she almost laughed. In terms of foot size, they were a perfect fit for her, which was probably why they had been left behind.

At last, all was done. Gúthwyn of Rohan was ready to go into battle to defend her people. She was ready to fight.

_Borogor, tonight I may join you,_ she thought, leaning against the wall. Soon, she would have to leave to join the army. _But I swear, I will go down in honor, no less than yours._

She wanted him with her, and allowed herself a few seconds' indulgence: She let her mind wander back into his arms.

_Stay strong,_ he whispered to her. _Show them no mercy._

_I promise,_ she vowed, and sunk even deeper into the embrace.

Then he had tilted her head up, and their eyes met as he leaned closer to her…

Footsteps were heard down the hall, yanking Gúthwyn from her tormented fantasy. Panicking, she all but flung her helmet on her head, and stuffed Borogor's pack into a barrel of broken spears. She was wrapping her cloak around her shoulders and reaching for her sheathed sword when someone entered the armory.

Her heart hammering painfully in her chest, Gúthwyn willed herself not to draw suspicion onto her. Turning, she faced the intruder, and felt faint when she saw that it was Aragorn.

To her shock, however, he did not recognize her. "You should be with the other men," he told her, not even glancing at her face. She saw the same unhappy look in his eyes as had been there earlier.

Nodding—she did not trust her voice to not betray her—Gúthwyn gave a short bow and left the armory. She was terrified that Aragorn would notice something odd about the silent soldier, and call her back to examine her more closely, but he did no such thing. A relieved sigh escaped her as she made her way to the outer court. One obstacle down.

She was just starting to congratulate herself when Legolas and Gimli came into view. Her heart skipped several beats, but they walked right by her. Only Legolas met her eyes, and as she refused to let them show any fear, he was not able to see whom she really was. Yet even when they passed, it was a long time before she let loose the breath that she had been holding.

Eventually, she came into the outer court, where there was a great crowd of men gathered before Théoden. Most of the Rohirrim were already on the battlements, scanning the Deeping-coomb for sight of an approaching army, but these were the ones who had the least experience in war. Many of them were boys.

The king was explaining the defenses that they would use. She saw that he had donned his armor, which was tinted green so as to be easily identifiable by the men in battle. "We do not have enough men," he spoke as she entered, slipping unnoticed behind someone she thought to be a stableboy, "to manage both the Deeping Wall and the Hornburg as well as I would like. But we will make do with what we have, and give Saruman's servants such a fight that it is sung of in thousands of years to come!"

There was a loud roar, and Théoden continued. "They will not overwhelm us without losing ten times as much as we do!"

Shouts of agreement rang throughout the stone. Gúthwyn felt the adrenaline beginning its course in her body; the only thing refraining her from yelling along with the men was her voice.

Théoden had opened his mouth when, suddenly, a clear horn rang out from the valley. They all turned, looking down a flight of stairs and down a curved passage, beyond which the doors into the fortress lay. Nothing were they able to see, but even as they stared, someone yelled, "Open the gates!"

The sound of the gates creaking open met their ears. Some of the boys appeared as though they half-believed it to be a host of Orcs. Gúthwyn's eyes were fixed on the torch-lit passageway, wondering how on Middle-earth could anyone come to their aid at this time—and who.

She did not have long to find out. Their feet made no sound on the stone, but she heard the gasps and murmurings that heralded their approach. And then she, too, inhaled sharply as a great host came up into the outer court. They were all carrying bows that were taller than them and had clad themselves in dark blue, with the sole exception of their leader. He wore a red cloak, and his golden hair was falling loose. Gúthwyn stared at him: It was Haldir of Lothlórien.

To her amazement, and even her fear, the Elven army spread out behind the Elf, slowly filing in. There had to be about two hundred of them, all silent as a cold morning in the mountains.

Théoden went down the stairs, and Haldir came up to him. The Elf gave a small bow, nodding at the shocked king of Rohan. "How is this possible?" her uncle breathed, staring in bewilderment at the Elves.

Gúthwyn stepped closer, threading her way through a few rows of men so that she could see better.

"I bring word from Elrond of Rivendell," Haldir replied, and as he spoke the Elves halted. Not one of them moved, nor even appeared to blink. The Rohirrim were gaping at them in open-mouthed astonishment. "An alliance once existed between Elves and Men. Long ago we fought and died together."

Théoden's chest was rising and falling unevenly. Gúthwyn felt her own heart thudding weakly against her ribs; her hands were white from curling into fists. She did not know what to think.

At that moment, two figures strode past her: Aragorn and Legolas. Haldir glanced at them, and a smile was upon his face as he said, "We have come to honor that allegiance."

Both the Ranger and the Elf made their way down to the forces from Lothlórien and Rivendell. Aragorn got there first, and greeted Haldir gladly in Elvish. The two of them gave a short bow, but then Aragorn dispensed with the formalities: He pulled Haldir into a bone-crushing embrace. For a few seconds, the Elf froze, but then he returned the gesture.

Gúthwyn watched all of this, not sure whether to be glad or terrified. She could not deny that their numbers would be a great help in the battle, as now they would only be overwhelmed twenty to one, as opposed to thirty-something to one. But she did not think she would be able to fight alongside them without freezing in horror, and that was as sure a way as any to get her killed.

Aragorn separated from Haldir then. "You are most welcome," he said. Legolas stepped forward; he and Haldir gripped each other's arms in the fashion of warriors, much like Cobryn and Lebryn had done after their sparring matches.

Without warning, the Elves' heads all turned in perfect unison towards Haldir. Then they shifted so that they were facing their leader, simultaneously planting their bows on the ground. Not a single Elf moved out of place. Gúthwyn's eyebrows raised, and grudgingly she admitted that they would be a formidable addition to the forces at Helm's Deep.

"We are proud to fight alongside Men once more," Haldir declared.

Théoden stared out at the help that had come, unexpected and unlooked-for, when his people were in dire need. "Today, I place myself into great debt," he said, "but never have I been more happy to do so."

Gúthwyn gazed upon the Elves, and could not help but agree.

* * *

For the tenth time in the past minute, Éowyn asked, "Have you seen Gúthwyn?"

The woman in front of her shook her head. "I am sorry, my lady, but I have not. Perhaps she is further down in the caves?"

Éowyn sighed. My lady this, my lady that. "Thank you," she said, turning away. The last she had seen of her sister was her back, fading into the crowd as she ran to retrieve her pack. She did not doubt what it was Gúthwyn wanted: A small, black book that she had often seen her with. Éowyn did not know what was in it, but whenever her sister read it, her face crumpled so that it was painful to look upon. She must have come back by now, as the caves had been sealed about half an hour ago, but Éowyn had missed her.

Just then, Éowyn felt a light tug on her dress. Glancing down, she saw a young boy—he could not have been older than two—staring up at her, a toothy smile on his face.

"Hello," she said, crouching down so that their eyes were level. He stuck a fist in his mouth and beamed, not taking in a word. "Where is your mother, little one?"

The boy giggled, obviously not understanding a single thing that she was saying. Éowyn looked around, but did not see any frantic women searching for a lost child. Once again, she sighed. "Well, I suppose you will have to endure my company for awhile, until I can find your family."

He grinned, and then raised his arms. Éowyn stood and picked him up, placing him awkwardly on her hip. She was not used to little children, and often found herself at a loss for what to do with them. A sword she could wield better than a feeding spoon; conversing with men about politics and warfare was easy, but it was next to impossible to entertain a child.

Yet she felt a strange sense of contentment when the boy leaned against her, burying his face in her chest and reaching up to play with her hair. Wherever Gúthwyn was at the moment, Éowyn could not worry about her. The young one in her arms needed the attention far more than her sister did.

"Now, let us try to find your mother," she whispered to the child, and he tugged happily at her hair.


	20. So It Begins

**The Rohan Pride Trilogy**

**Part Two: Reunions**

**Book Two**

**By: WhiteLadyOfTroy**

**Summary:  
**Gúthwyn's mission has failed. Now that she is traveling with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to find the Hobbits, she finds herself being confronted with her past, as well as some painful experiences in the present.

**About the Trilogy:  
**I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. _The Fellowship of the Ring_ had two books within the text, as did _The Two Towers_ and _The Return of the King_. The only change I have made is the first part in my trilogy: Alone. That was divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where _The Fellowship of the Ring_ started. Reunions will be divided into two books.

**About Chapter Twenty:  
**As always, I will be using a blend of both movie and book canon. Sorry for any confusion. Please correct me on anything that seems amiss, out-of-character, or non-canon. Also, I know nothing of sword fighting, so some of the upcoming scenes may seem ludicrous to experts. Feel free to point out any blatant errors. Finally, just an advance warning: Lately, my chapters have been bouncing back and forth between extremely long or rather short.

**Chapter Twenty**

The air was chilly with anticipation. Gúthwyn shifted ever so slightly, tensing and loosening her muscles. She was standing on the edge of the Deeping Wall, closest of those arrayed there to the Hornburg, soon to be fighting next to those with whom she would never have done so… the Elves.

Her own people had been arranged on the Hornburg. There were two different levels, each overlooking the Deeping-coomb. Théoden was on the innermost circle, surrounded by the royal guard. Should the fortress ever be breached, he would be the last to see the fighting. It was for the best, since Rohan now had no heir to the throne, but she was rather disgruntled that he was not leading his people into battle.

Gúthwyn, for her part, had snuck away from the Eorlingas in the confusion of assembly, and headed out onto the Deeping Wall. She was so close to the Hornburg that only someone looking directly down from above her would be able to see her. All of this was to limit the chances of anyone recognizing her, though when the battle commenced none of it would matter.

She winced as the Elf next to her glanced over at her cloaked figure, his eyes narrowing briefly before returning his attention to the still empty valley. So far, no one had inquired as to why a Man had chosen to stand with the Elves, rather than his own people, and she was grateful for that.

Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli were also on the Deeping Wall; she had seen them from far away. The Ranger had taken over command of the Elven troops, something Haldir had not begrudged him. He was pacing up and down the lines, though luckily he had not ventured near enough to the Hornburg for him to see her. Legolas and Gimli were standing side by side near the middle of the Wall. A small grin came on her face: The Dwarf could not even see over the stone.

Gúthwyn exhaled slowly, running her fingers over the bow she held. It was not hers, as it had been handed to her by one of the guards, and she wished she did not have to use it, but she had no choice. The only hope of devastating Saruman's forces before hand-to-hand combat ensued was assailing the creatures with arrows as they approached. In some warfare, archery was the most important aspect.

She grimaced. It had been months—three seasons, to be precise—since she had picked up a bow. The one Haldor had given to her was lying somewhere on the banks of the Anduin River: Aragorn had not brought with him on the chase for Merry and Pippin, and she had not cared enough about it to protest. Archery was something Haldor had taught her, and she never wanted another lesson for as long as she lived. Her sword, currently hanging from her left hip, was the weapon she felt most comfortable with.

A low growl of thunder met her ears, and she glanced up at the dark sky before returning her gaze to the Deeping-coomb. A cold mist was shrouding the fortress, making everything seem somewhat ghostly. Aside from her breathing, the only sound she could hear was the shifting of the Rohirric men; the Elves were utterly still. Despite the flickering torches, everyone's faces seemed pale.

It was not long before the rumor of the approaching army was heard: Iron-clad footsteps, stomping monotonously on the ground. Gúthwyn shivered in both excitement and nervousness as the noises grew louder. Soon, faint beams of light formed in the distant valley. Slowly, gradually, the Uruk-hai filled the Deeping-coomb, advancing forward relentlessly. Grunts and hoarse shouts drifted to the defenders.

Ten thousand was a vast number, greater than anything she had ever imagined. In comparison with only five hundred manning the Keep! Her stomach turned over. There was no hope. All would be lost, and she would perish along with the other Men and Elves. The Uruks would take the fortress, and slay the refugees.

Gúthwyn's breath was shaky, and her palms were beginning to sweat. _Even if you die,_ she told herself, _it will not be so bad. You will go down in honor, and Borogor will be waiting for you…_

_No!_ another voice in her mind cried. _Do not think of him! You must focus on the task at hand!_

So she forced herself to concentrate on the Uruks. It was not difficult, once she saw how enormous the army was. Even the weather seemed to be doing its best to augment the hopelessness of the situation: A sudden flash of lightning unexpectedly lit up the valley. As far back as she could see, the Uruk-hai were marching, with seemingly no end to their ranks.

Another burst of lightning illuminated the gorge. Not far behind it was a raindrop, splashing onto Gúthwyn's thin hand. She watched it trickle down the skin, soon replaced by dozens more. Rain was pouring down on defender and invader alike, making the unfolding scene appear even more surrealistic. Adding to the creepy atmosphere was the fact that the torches did not blow out—they kept burning sinisterly, the flames licking at the cold air with their burning tongues.

The army was just within bow range now. Yet none of the Rohirrim or Elves made to attack as the Uruks drew closer. Gúthwyn could hear Aragorn shouting as he strode up and down the ranks, but she understood not a word from his mouth. However, the archer beside her stiffened, gripping his bow tightly and narrowing his eyes at the Uruks.

At a loud howl from the leader, who had clambered on top of a large rock, Saruman's army came to a halt, exactly one hundred paces away from the Deeping Wall. For a long time, no one moved. Some of the Uruks growled, and she saw their breath forming clouds of mist before their faces. All of them were wearing heavy armor, some of which she recognized. Back at Isengard, the helmets and metal gauntlets had only been in piles, but to see them now on these creatures was deeply unsettling. Gúthwyn herself had contributed, in part, to that army which assailed her people tonight.

The leader growled again, his foul voice ringing throughout the valley as he raised his arm in some sort of signal. The Uruks, who had been clutching long, lethal-looking iron pikes, now began banging the weapons on the ground. At first they bashed them in unison, but as time went on the clashing became wild. Gúthwyn cringed, loathing the sound, wishing it would stop.

A clear ringing noise echoed in the night. Aragorn had withdrawn his sword; Andúril, Flame of the West, gleamed as a bright speck in the corner of her eye. Simultaneously, the men of Rohan readied their bows. More than one of them looked as though they had half a mind to shoot now—Gúthwyn kept her own bow by her side, waiting for a command from Aragorn.

Suddenly, there was a _twang_, and an arrow rushed from the Hornburg towards the Uruk-hai. Before anyone knew what was happening, it had embedded itself in the shoulder of an Uruk, who groaned mightily as his life was taken. He stumbled back into the other creatures.

Aragorn shouted something, holding up his hand. Everyone in the valley fell silent, except for the Uruk: He growled, then fell forward and landed with a _splash_ on the wet ground. Gúthwyn watched as the arrow in his shoulder was pushed through to the other end. For a brief moment, no one moved an inch. She glanced up, and saw the old man who had released the arrow staring shakily at what he had done.

The Uruks grew angry. Clouds rose in front of their faces as they snarled and roared, gnashing their teeth and stomping. Once more, the leader raised his arm. With hideous growls, Saruman's army began advancing. The fallen Uruk was surrounded, his body swiftly getting trampled. The assault on Helm's Deep had begun, and Gúthwyn faced it with the same determination as she had when dueling Haldor: Death was certain, but she would take the enemy down with her.

As the Uruk-hai ran towards the Deeping Wall, their feet pounding into the ground, Aragorn issued a loud command. Instantaneously, the Elves lifted their bows and fitted arrows to them. Gúthwyn followed suit not a second later, trying to keep her breathing steady. All of the skirmishes that she had fought before, in terms of size, were nothing compared to this. Yet with such a huge mass of Uruks racing towards her, it would be hard to miss at least one of them.

The rain was pouring down her face, making visibility difficult. Her arm was shaking, but the Elf next to her had not so much as trembled. All of the Elves were like that; not a single unsteady hand was among them. Gúthwyn inhaled and exhaled, focusing her eyes on one particular Uruk. _Aim for that one,_ she told herself.

There was another shout from Aragorn, and then the air was filled with arrows racing towards the Uruk-hai. Gúthwyn released her own, somewhat annoyed that it did not hit the Uruk she was targeting. Instead, it slammed into the chest of the one two fighters away, sending him crumbling to the ground. He did not get up.

It was not long until the arrows from the Rohirrim were added to the fray. At the same time, reserves of Elves who were standing behind the Deeping Wall fired at a signal from Aragorn. Soon the arrows were falling as thick as the rain, storming down onto Saruman's army. The Uruks dropped like flies, but even as Gúthwyn reveled in her fifth kill her heart dropped to see that thousands more still remained. The hundreds slaughtered already were only the first few droplets of a raging river, and slowly but steadily they were gaining the Wall.

She could see some of the Uruks closest to the fortress withdrawing crossbows. Plumes of fear rose inside of her: These bows were far more powerful than what the defenders were using. They had the capability of going through two armored men at the same time, were deadly accurate, and near impossible to avoid by simply ducking. If any of the Uruks decided to shoot her, she was as good as dead.

A shock ran through her when the Elf beside her crashed to the stone floor, an arrow driven into his skull. He fell wordlessly, not even crying out as his life was taken. Gúthwyn gulped, and when she returned to shooting her arm shook so much that she missed the intended Uruk entirely, and hit a creature five rows back and about twenty fighters across.

The Uruk-hai were drawing closer to the Deeping Wall. Despite the ruthless attack from the Elves, and the fiery assault from the Rohirrim, their numbers were too great to be held back for long by the arrows. Gúthwyn's eyes widened as she saw several of them carrying along steel ladders, meant to help them scale the Wall and thus assail the defenders from within.

Aragorn cried out, and immediately the Elves directed their arrows to those Uruks setting up the ladders. But it was no use. The first one began coming up, closest to Gúthwyn and the Hornburg. Before steel crashed onto stone, she saw several more ascending, each with Uruk-hai clinging onto them.

The first Uruk leaped onto the Deeping Wall, and in that time Gúthwyn had cast aside her bow and withdrawn Framwine from his sheathe. The creature turned to her, and she ducked under the lethal swing of its broadsword; from there, it was a simple matter of driving her sword through his stomach. Yet there was no time to watch the life fade from his body, as another Uruk instantly took the first one's place.

Soon she was in a whirlwind of fighting, one that she felt herself growing stronger in with each passing moment. Even as she fended off attacks from Saruman's servants, she was aware of what was going on around her—so it did not escape her attention when some of the ladders began crashing back down into the Uruks' forces. Taking well to this idea, she cut her way over to one of them.

An Uruk had been coming up, only paying attention to the rungs that he was grabbing, and Gúthwyn had a surprise for him. She stepped up onto the wall, clutching the ladder tightly, and sent a powerful kick to his head. Less than an instant later, she wished she had not done that, as it felt as if she had broken her foot, but the action caught the Uruk off-guard and he was sent tumbling down to his comrades below.

The next Uruk was only halfway up the ladder. Gúthwyn placed her hands at the top of the steel structure and tried to shove it, yet the weight was too much for her; strong she was, though certainly not enough to move this thing. Out loud, she cursed. The other Uruk was gaining the top, and soon she would have to waste precious time to kill him. More Uruk-hai were right behind him.

Unexpectedly, an Elf nearby her turned and started pushing it with her. Their strength combined did what hers alone could not: The ladder leaned away from the Wall, and with the weight of the Uruks at the bottom it soon crashed down. Twenty-some odd of the enemy were smote by their own contraption, and a broad grin was on her face as she nodded at the Elf.

"Thank you," she breathed, attempting to make her voice deeper. He inclined his head, and then whirled around to deliver a slashing strike to an Uruk that had scaled the Wall from another ladder.

The fighting upon the Deeping Wall was growing more intense than anything Gúthwyn had ever seen before. Slowly but surely she was being driven away from the Hornburg. The Uruks were by far stronger and more powerful than her, and they effortlessly thrust her backwards with many of their strikes. With each Uruk she killed, she was a few feet closer to the center of the Wall. There, she could see that the enemy was prevailing; countless Elven bodies lay on the stone, their armor red with blood. Some of them were missing heads.

"Seventeen! Eighteen!" The fierce growl of Gimli startled her. She was in the middle of a brief respite from the fighting, and glanced over to see him standing on top of the Wall, cutting down the Uruks even as they came up from the ladders. A worried chill went through her as she imagined him falling, or being slain by an arrow, but he seemed to be having no trouble—indeed, a maniacal gleam of joy was in his eyes. "Nineteen! Twenty-one!"

At Gimli's twenty-second kill, she was thrown back into the battle. An Uruk lunged at her, and almost half a minute of furious dueling ensued. He had backed her into the Wall, and she was hard-pressed to defend herself from his endless attacks. At last she spotted an opening; she drove her sword through his shoulder, causing him to step back and howl in pain. She used his distraction to finish the job: Not a second later, his head was lying on the ground.

When his body collapsed shortly afterwards, she was able to see the ramp leading up to the Hornburg. A group of Uruks had formed a tight cluster, using their shields to cover the leaders and to create an impenetrable roof above them. Despite the stones and arrows raining down upon them from the Hornburg, they were gaining the doors. It looked as though the Hornburg would soon be put to the test.

"Causeway!"

The yell from Aragorn had the remaining Elves taking out their bows. With a cold precision, they turned to the ramp, and shot a score of arrows into the unprotected sides of the Uruks. Several of the creatures fell, tumbling into the ravine below. Yet still the enemy advanced, and Gúthwyn's stomach turned over uneasily. Would they be able to break down the doors?

Suddenly, as she slaughtered an Uruk who had unsuccessfully attempted to catch her off guard, she noticed that a path had been cleared amongst the creatures in the valley. She followed it with her eyes and realized that it led to the small culvert through which the Deeping Stream ran: The one weakness in the Deeping Wall. Her eyes narrowed in confusion—even though the culvert was vulnerable, they had no way of getting inside through it.

By this point, she had been driven back to the center of the Wall. She was simply not large enough to hold her ground against these fierce creatures, especially when the ground was slippery with blood. As another Uruk perished by her blade, she took another puzzled look at the path. Four of the Uruk-hai were racing along it in pairs; each of them was gripping the end of what seemed to be a spiked steel ball.

Gúthwyn slaughtered one of the enemy, then took the risk of moving closer to the side of the Wall nearest to the valley. The balls had disappeared under the stone, presumably into the arched gate of the culvert. _What are they doing?_ she wondered in bewilderment as she drove her sword through the stomach of an Uruk.

The chanting of the Uruks grew louder. One of the enemy was sprinting down the path, a torch held high in his right hand. He was heading directly towards the steel contraptions. A horrible, sinking feeling settled itself in Gúthwyn's gut, though she knew not why.

Her fears were confirmed when she heard the frantic shouting of Aragorn. It was a string of Elvish, but Legolas' name was yelled along with it. Time began to slow down as she turned to see the Elf, his bow drawn back and an arrow fitted to it. Even the Uruks on the Wall seemed to be watching him; she had not been assaulted for nearly thirty seconds.

Furious concentration was on his face as Legolas shot. The arrow hit the Uruk in the shoulder, but the creature did not fall. Panic, such as she had never seen before, now marred the Elf's face as he hastily nocked another arrow and fired. The Uruks other shoulder was struck. Any other being on the planet would have crumbled, but this one did not. The cries of Aragorn, the clashing of metal on metal, the Uruks calls—all rang numbly in her head as the creature disappeared into the culvert.

The Deeping Wall exploded.


	21. Retreat

**The Rohan Pride Trilogy**

**Part Two: Reunions**

**Book Two**

**By: WhiteLadyOfTroy**

**Summary:  
**Gúthwyn's mission has failed. Now that she is traveling with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to find the Hobbits, she finds herself being confronted with her past, as well as some painful experiences in the present.

**About the Trilogy:  
**I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. _The Fellowship of the Ring_ had two books within the text, as did _The Two Towers_ and _The Return of the King_. The only change I have made is the first part in my trilogy: Alone. That was divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where _The Fellowship of the Ring_ started. Reunions will be divided into two books.

**About Chapter Twenty-One:  
**As always, I will be using a blend of both movie and book canon. Sorry for any confusion. Please correct me on anything that seems amiss, out-of-character, or non-canon. Also, I know nothing of sword fighting, so some of the upcoming scenes may seem ludicrous to experts. Feel free to point out any blatant errors. Finally, just an advance warning: Lately, my chapters have been bouncing back and forth between extremely long or rather short.

**Chapter Twenty-One**

A terrifying noise, louder than anything Gúthwyn had ever heard in her life before, all but destroyed her ears as she was flung off her feet. In a daze, she saw the Deeping Wall shatter below her. Enormous chunks of stone were hurtled backwards and forwards, slaying the Uruks and raining down amongst the Elves and Men. She felt herself being catapulted through the air.

And then, something slammed into the right side of her stomach, driving straight through the mail hauberk to the flesh below. She screamed in pain as it pierced the skin. A thousand needles of agony were jabbing at her side, causing her to curl in on herself even as she fell towards the ground. Everything was slowing down, passing as a blurry haze before her eyes. The sodden earth was rushing up to meet her, and she wrapped her arms about herself. This was it. She was going to die.

Gúthwyn crashed onto the ground, and all the air was knocked out of her. She could do nothing; her vision was sliding, the pain increasing so that she was unable to bear it. Stars whirled and twinkled above her as she heard the terrible cries of dying Elves. A whimper escaped her. She wanted, needed, Borogor. _I am coming to you…_

Yet blissful release would not come. Her head refused to let her go, pounding angrily until she nearly gasped in agony. The pain in her stomach increased tenfold; she cried out, clutching at its source. She felt her hands become slippery with blood. Breathing rapidly, she forced herself to glance down. When she at last managed it, she gasped: A large chunk of stone protruded from her skin, its grey quickly turning to red.

Growling noises met her ears. She could only writhe around in the mud, incapable of getting to her feet. Managing to prop herself up on her elbows, she gaped in horror at the Deeping Wall—or what was left of it. She had been thrown nearly thirty feet away from it, landing in a crumpled heap near a set of stairs. All around her lay the bodies of Elves. Only a few of them were moving. For some reason, the Valar had spared her life.

It looked, however, as though the gift was soon to be retracted. Just one body was between her and the Uruks, who were now pouring in through the breach. Her eyes widened in shock as she realized it was Aragorn, laboring to get to his feet and face the oncoming Uruk-hai. They were less than twenty feet from him.

Gúthwyn thought she was going to have to see the Ranger perish when a sudden cry rang through the valley. Gimli was standing on top of the remainder of the Deeping Wall, hefting his axe up and calling out to his friend. "Aragorn!" he yelled, and to the amazement of both Gúthwyn and the Ranger he leaped off of the Wall.

Still trying to gain her bearings, Gúthwyn could only watch as Gimli landed amongst the Uruks, narrowly avoiding the long, deadly pikes that the creatures carried. The Dwarf did not even cringe at the impact, and immediately began swinging his axe with such ferocity that the Uruk-hai had soon given him a wide birth.

"Gimli!" Aragorn shouted, getting to his feet. Something was wrong with Gúthwyn's chest: She could barely breathe. Her hand was clamped over her stomach. _Get up!_ she screamed at herself.

Moaning, she tried to obey her mind's command, but she stopped short as she saw Gimli lose his footing. He fell into the water, disappearing with a _splash_ beneath the muddy surface. Her heart froze; even more so when she glanced at Aragorn, and looked upon the Elven reserves that had lined up behind him. She was caught in the middle of the two forces, with no way out.

At a command from Aragorn, the Elves lifted their bows. Countless arrows whizzed over Gúthwyn's head and around the Ranger, all finding a match with the Uruks. Black bodies littered the Deeping Stream. _Get up!_ she mentally yelled again. And then she slipped, collapsing back down with a groan.

Aragorn gave a loud battle cry; at his word, the Elves began racing forward. For the briefest moment, the Ranger held Andúril before him. Gúthwyn nearly forgot her struggle to get to her feet as the defenders charged the Uruk-hai. Elves ran around her, holding their swords aloft as they prepared to meet Saruman's army in one last, desperate attempt to inflict as much damage as possible.

Now she was on her knees. Both forces collided then, and the resulting noise was deafening. Trying to get out of the clash before an Uruk spotted her, Gúthwyn placed one foot beneath her. Immediately, it wobbled, and she fell back to the ground. So far, luck had been on her side: The Elves before her had not been slain, and as of yet no Uruks had seen her lying helplessly in the mud.

She still had Framwine—her grip on her sword had been so tight that it had not left her in the explosion. But at the rate she was going, she did not think she would even be able to lift it against the Uruk-hai. Once again, she attempted to get to her feet. Yet her limbs were shaking from a combination of shock and the impact; she failed to achieve her goal. _What is wrong with me?_ She felt the beginnings of panic worm their way through her.

A flash of gold caught her eye. Starting, she focused on one of the Elven warriors now running down the stairs to join the fray: Legolas. Only something was different about his motions… Her mouth dropped open. He had taken a shield, put it under his feet, and was using it to slide down the steps. As he went, he fired arrow after arrow into the black masses, catching numerous Uruks at unawares and killing them. When he at last leaped off the shield, it shot out and pierced one of the creature's necks.

Grudgingly, she had to admit that he was a formidable warrior. As she watched him join the battle, her constant attempts to get to her feet foiled, she did not doubt that she could best him in a duel; yet his archery far surpassed that of Borogor's, amazing though it was, and she thought he could have easily held his own against even Haldor.

She was pulled out of her musings when an Uruk loomed over her. Gúthwyn panicked; the fear sent a surge of energy through her as the creature swung his broadsword down to her still form. With a cry, she just managed to roll out of the way, still clutching Framwine with one hand and her stomach with the other. Enraged, the Uruk reached down and grabbed her, closing a thick fist about her throat.

The air was leaving her body. Fingers fumbling, she let go her sword and reached for the dagger Galadriel had given her. As the Uruk raised his blade, she stabbed him in the chest, right where his heart should have been. He howled, dropping her as he stumbled backwards. She crashed into the mud, effectively drained of all the adrenaline that had been coursing through her veins.

For what felt like eternity, she could not even move. As one dead she lay, and perhaps that was why no more Uruks attacked her. Through blurry eyes, she could see the Elves falling in droves. Slowly, the battle was being lost. Tons of Uruks were piled at the Deeping Wall, but thousands were still pouring in. And in the midst of all this, she was unable to get up, unable to defend herself.

"Aragorn!"

The cry from the Hornburg, rising even over the slaughter, clanging metal, and shrieks and groans of dying Elves, resounded in Gúthwyn's ears. She recognized the voice: It was her uncle. "Théoden…" she whispered, and stirred. Now was the time to get up!

"Fall back to the Keep! Get your men out of there!"

He was ordering a retreat. Her breath, little though it was, caught in her throat. She could not move; the stairs leading into the Hornburg were so close, not even ten feet away, and her feet would not support her. So she tried to crawl, lowering herself to the humility that she had sworn to avoid, but her body refused to cooperate with her. Casting a panicked glance over her shoulder, she saw the combat drawing nearer, bringing Legolas with it.

A sharp terror instilled itself in her, and she furiously forced herself another foot. A cry escaped from her lips at the pain; she grabbed at her stomach once more. Legolas was now heading for the stairs. He and an Elf had each grabbed one of Gimli's arms; the Dwarf was roaring, demanding to be let back into the fight.

Gúthwyn heard Legolas' voice above her, saying something in Elvish. _Do not show any fear!_ she yelled at herself, yet refused to look at him. _It will be obvious who you are!_

"Take my hand!" This time, Legolas spoke in the Common Tongue. She had no choice but to face him. The helmet was still mercifully on her head; otherwise he would have seen the crimson shade her cheeks were turning. He, Haldor, and Borogor all had the same talent: Seeing her in her weakest moments.

When their eyes met, she saw no sign of recognition in his pure blue ones. No fool was she to deny his offer. Placing her hand in his, she allowed him to pull her up, still holding onto her stomach with the other.

"We are retreating to the Hornburg!" he yelled over the noise of the surrounding battle. "Can you make it back on your own?"

Gúthwyn took one look at the stairs and knew she would not be able to. They were long, as they hugged the mountains from the gorge all the way up to the Hornburg. But she did not want Legolas' assistance. Bending down, she reached for her sword. She felt her knees buckling as her hand closed around the hilt, and nearly collapsed again. The agony in her stomach was incredible.

At last, she managed to straighten. "Come!" Legolas said. "The Uruks are almost upon us!"

"Go!" she tried to tell him, her voice as manly as she could make it. However, he would not take no for an answer. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he started helping her up the stairs. Even impeded by her injured body, their pace was fast. She soon realized that he must have thought her a boy, one who had mistakenly wandered into the battlefield; she was certainly a foot shorter than him, and light enough to not have seen thirteen summers. Otherwise, he probably would have left her to fend for herself.

They had soon ascended the steps. Elven archers lined the battlements, still firing relentlessly down at the Uruks below. "Go into the Hornburg!" he told her. "The doors cannot last much longer, and they need all the help they can get!"

"Thank you," she panted, and did not trust her voice to say anymore. So she followed his advice, passing through a short tunnel into the main fortress. There she stopped, aghast at what she saw.

A gaping hole had already been rent in the wooden doors. Men were crowded around it, fighting fiercely against the Uruks that now sought to enter the Hornburg. So far, Saruman's servants had not succeeded, but it was only a matter of time. As she watched, her hand clamped over her stomach—the blood flow had not stopped—one of the creatures reached forward and grabbed Gamling by the neck.

Gúthwyn made her way closer to the action, preparing to throw herself into it. She saw Théoden, surprisingly at the front of the defenders, chop off the arm that was choking Gamling. And then she gasped, for an Uruk had thrust a spear towards her uncle. It penetrated the spot between where his breastplate and his pauldrons connected. Théoden cried out, but quickly recovered. Grasping both the weapon that had wounded him and a second spear, he thrust them both back at the Uruk.

Then Gamling started pulling the king out of the fight, for Théoden's left pauldron had fallen off. At this, Gúthwyn darted into the fray, willing to risk her life rather than come face to face with her uncle. The sight of the Uruk-hai harming her people had instilled a fierce anger within her, and it was the only reason why she did not just keel over and sink to the floor.

Even with the use of one hand, she did not find the combat as difficult as she had thought it would be. The Uruks were restricted by the small hole through which they had to enter; if they managed to force their way in, it was just a few seconds before someone had cut them down. Gúthwyn was unable to get into the center—and in any case, she did not think it was a good idea with a bleeding stomach—but she managed to position herself near the front.

A commotion broke out near her. Aragorn had come up through the same passageway that Legolas had taken her; several Uruks were slain by Andúril.

"Hold them!" she heard Théoden yelling at the Ranger. An Uruk lunged at her just then, and she was forced to dart to her left before delivering him a fatal blow across his chest. As soon as his body fell she doubled over, her lips moving wordlessly in silent screams.

"Gimli!" The shout echoed next to her, and she saw Aragorn grab the Dwarf by the shoulder. The two of them raced down a small passage, soon disappearing from view; yet she remembered that it led to a small outcropping of rock on the outside of the Hornburg. Her brow furrowed.

At that moment, a great roar rose up from the Rohirrim. Inspired by whatever words Théoden had said while she was hunched over, they surged forwards, launching a powerful attack against the Uruks. Gúthwyn found herself closer to the front, though she did not mind it much: Her old lust for battle, overcome for a short while by her injury, was rearing its proud head once more.

She was killing her fifth Uruk in two minutes when a sudden disturbance occurred in Saruman's forces. Squinting, she was not rewarded with a clear view of what was going on, but she heard a familiar voice crying in the Dwarvish tongue. Somehow, Gimli had gotten onto the causeway—had he jumped? She did not have time to wonder before a second shout echoed on the ramp: Aragorn.

The Uruks were distracted, which gave Théoden all the time he needed. "Shore up the door!" he ordered, and immediately the royal guards rushed towards the door, holding large wooden beams above their heads.

"Make way!" Gamling called as he went. "Follow me to the barricade!"

Gúthwyn took one last glance at Aragorn and Gimli, whom she could now see battling furiously with the Uruks, and went to join the guards. For a brief instant, she wondered what their fates would be: Had they sacrificed themselves so that the Rohirrim could fortify the doors? It did not seem likely that their lives would end in that way, but in battle so little was certain; neither did she see how they could get back in through the gate in time.

Soon, however, the thoughts were banished from her mind as someone yelled, "Throw another one over here!" Hastily, she moved over to where a large beam lay. Two guards went to help her; the three of them lifted it up, and started bringing it to add to the barricade. She looked at their faces closely, but did not see Tun's under the helmets.

_Please,_ she prayed, _let him still be alive._

"Higher!" Théoden yelled, and she focused her mind to the task at hand, straining her shoulders and arms to raise the beam. Her hauberk was keeping the rock in place—if she removed it, that would only increase the blood flow—and the pain was slowly beginning to fade in the excitement of battle.

The beam was set in place. "Hold fast the gate!" Théoden encouraged them. He had gone to the front of the line again, but thanks to Aragorn and Gimli none of the Uruk-hai had been able to deter the building of the barricade. Above her, Gúthwyn could hear the sounds of equally frenzied struggle on the battlements of the Hornburg, and wondered how things were up there.

"Gimli! Aragorn!" Théoden yelled. There was only one small strip left open in the door, and through it she saw the Ranger turn to look at him. "Get out of there!"

Aragorn nodded, but just then an Uruk came up behind him and grabbed both him and the Dwarf. Gúthwyn gasped, leaping forward and withdrawing her sword once more; Théoden, however, placed the last board across the door, effectively blocking all view of what later befell her two comrades. She stopped short in horror. It was Théoden's duty to protect his people, rather than strangers to his land, but she could not believe he had so cruelly cut them off from all aid. He might as well have killed them.

At that moment, a boy came racing down the stairs, his eyes wide and terror-filled. It was Haleth. Her heart twisted; she could only imagine what horrors he had seen, or how many of his friends he had watched die.

"My lord!" Haleth panted, skidding to a halt and putting his hands on his knees. Théoden looked at him. "They have gained the battlements, my lord," Haleth breathed. "They are overwhelming us. We cannot fight them!"

Théoden and the guards exchanged shocked and troubled glances. For the first time since its construction, enemies had breached the Hornburg. Gúthwyn watched her uncle, wondering what he would do. She was slightly out of breath, and even as he spoke, her hand slid over her stomach.

"Pull everybody back," Théoden told Gamling. "Pull them back!"

Gúthwyn felt her face paling. This was the second retreat in an hour. Saruman's army was winning the battle; if the defenders lost much more ground, they would be at the caves. Her heart froze as she thought of Éowyn and the other refugees facing a merciless final assault by the Uruks, unable to defend themselves. Even Éowyn, whom she did not doubt was formidable with a blade, could only fight off so many before they overwhelmed her.

"Fall back!" Gamling yelled, yanking her out of her miserable thoughts. "Fall back!"

Instantly, the men gave way. Gúthwyn ran with them, going up the stairs and through the outer court. They were retreating to the inner court, where there was another set of doors that they could hold. As she went, she saw men from all areas of the Hornburg scrambling to obey the orders. Some, on the battlements, were cut down as they went.

There was a great creaking noise. "They have broken through!" she heard Théoden shouting. She did not know where he was; all she could concentrate on was reaching the inner court before it was too late. "The castle is breached! Retreat!"

The cry was taken up. "Fall back! Retreat!"

As she ran in through the doors, narrowly escaping the Uruks who had come up to cut off the men's escape, she glanced up at the battlements. An astonished cry left her as she saw Aragorn and Gimli racing towards the upper entrance, followed closely by Legolas. How had they survived?

But there was no time to dwell on this. Théoden was now directing what was left of his army into the last part of the fortress: the Keep itself. The makeshift throne room was there, in addition to the stables and the entrance to the caves. Here, it would truly be a fight to the death.

As Gúthwyn sprinted in, Haleth just before her, she knew that nothing short of a miracle would save the Eorlingas now. All hope was lost.


	22. To a Glorious Death

**The Rohan Pride Trilogy**

**Part Two: Reunions**

**Book Two**

**By: WhiteLadyOfTroy**

**Summary:  
**Gúthwyn's mission has failed. Now that she is traveling with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to find the Hobbits, she finds herself being confronted with her past, as well as some painful experiences in the present.

**About the Trilogy:  
**I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. _The Fellowship of the Ring_ had two books within the text, as did _The Two Towers_ and _The Return of the King_. The only change I have made is the first part in my trilogy: Alone. That was divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where _The Fellowship of the Ring_ started. Reunions will be divided into two books.

**About Chapter Twenty-Two:  
**As always, I will be using a blend of both movie and book canon. Sorry for any confusion. Please correct me on anything that seems amiss, out-of-character, or non-canon. Also, I know nothing of sword fighting, so some of the upcoming scenes may seem ludicrous to experts. Feel free to point out any blatant errors. Finally, just an advance warning: Lately, my chapters have been bouncing back and forth between extremely long or rather short.

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

Outside, it was dawn, but inside it was as bleak as the darkest hour of the night. Gúthwyn and about ten others, including Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and the king, were besieged in the Keep, struggling to hold off Saruman's army. The White Hand still guided thousands of Uruks against them, and even while the guards planted beams and benches as barricades on the doors, they knew the battle would be over soon. Periodic _booms_ were shaking the doors; the Uruks had taken a battering ram to it.

Surprisingly, she was rather calm about her imminent death. It was not as frightening as it could have been. Borogor would be up there, along with the children. Théodred and her parents would be awaiting her, as well. And when the Uruks took the Keep, as was inevitable, she would not surrender and receive whichever fate they chose to deal her. She would fight to the end, and go down with honor.

So Gúthwyn felt a surge of disgust when her uncle, who had been standing away from his warriors alongside Gamling, called out to them:

"The fortress is taken. It is over."

_You fool,_ she found herself seething. _You would roll over and let the enemy trample you, as you allowed Gríma to bewitch your mind with his soft whispers!_

"You said this fortress would never fall while your men defended it!" Aragorn exclaimed, moving over to the king. Legolas was just behind him. Together, the two of them picked up a bench; the Elf returned to the doors with it, while Aragorn continued with the king. "They still defend it! They have _died_ defending it!"

All of Gúthwyn's attention was fixed on them, so that she only flinched a little as Legolas passed her by with the bench.

"Is there no other way for the women and children to get out of the caves?" Aragorn demanded, glancing at the entrance to them and then looking back and forth between Théoden and Gamling. Legolas came over and upturned a table. When neither of them answered, seemingly in a daze, he all but shouted, "Is there no other way?"

Gamling nodded, and Gúthwyn breathed a sigh of relief. "There is one passage," he replied. "It leads into the mountains."

Whatever befell her in the last few moments of her life, Gúthwyn prayed that Éowyn would be able to escape the doom that now lay over the Deeping-coomb. Her sister had probably discovered her absence by now; she wished she had not caused her so much grief, but there was nothing to be done about it.

"But they will not get far," Gamling added, looking miserable. "The Uruk-hai are too many!"

There was another _boom_ from outside. This time, it took the men longer to return to their positions. Gúthwyn pressed forward with them, not liking at all what she was hearing. One of her eyes was still on Théoden and the Ranger.

"Send word for the women and children to make for the mountain pass," Aragorn ordered, his hand gripping Gamling's shoulder tightly. "And barricade the entrance!"

"So much death," Théoden suddenly spoke. His voice was low, but it echoed throughout the nearly empty Keep. "What can Men do against such reckless hate?"

Once more, the Uruks tried to break down the doors. Dust filtered downwards, and some of the beams wobbled. Yet still the Rohirrim pushed at the doors, refusing to let them yield while there was still breath in their bodies. _It will not be long now,_ Gúthwyn thought, clenching and unclenching her fists.

For a moment, Aragorn was silent. Finally he said, so quietly that she had to strain her ears to hear him, "Ride out with me." Then his voice grew stronger, and filled with determination. "Ride out and meet them."

Gúthwyn's pulse quickened. The last charge of the Eorlingas, in which Théoden the King rode out with the last men standing, into the pale grey dawn to face an honorable death in a hopeless battle. If they were to perish here, she could not have chosen a better ending herself.

Théoden was in agreement. "For death and glory," he murmured, a small smile coming over his face.

"For Rohan," Aragorn said, approaching Théoden. "For your people."

Excitement was beginning to take over her. She wanted this to be—she wanted to ride out with the last remnants of her people, and die so gloriously that songs were sung about it afterwards.

"The sun is rising," Gimli spoke then, leaning on his axe. She glanced at one of the windows, set high up in the Keep, and saw that he was correct: Soft sunlight was streaming in, heralding the beginning of a new day. The defenders of Helm's Deep had lasted the night, which was more than anyone had expected.

"Yes," Théoden murmured. "Yes." Gúthwyn could feel the anticipation radiating off of him as keenly as if it were her own. Slowly, he turned to his guard. "The horn of Helm Hammerhand," he declared, "shall sound in the Deep one last time."

"Yes!" Gimli growled. Without another word, he began sprinting to the passage leading to the last tower, in which a large horn was kept to signal advances and retreats. No one had been manning it for the battle, as all the help that they could get was needed.

The door quivered again. This time, several of the barricades fell down. Not two feet away from her, Legolas withdrew his bow, nocking it and preparing to shoot the invading Uruk-hai. Other men reached for their swords, but Gúthwyn kept hers in its sheathe. _Soon, Framwine,_ she told it silently, _soon you will shine with new blood._

"Men!" Théoden called, and everyone turned to look at him. Gamling, who had left the main room of the Keep, now returned with a great brown mare in tow. The other warhorses were trotting out after him, one for each of the Eorlingas. Hasufel and Arod followed shortly after. "Mount your horses! Let no fear hold you now, not when there are Uruks to feel the bite of our blades!"

Gúthwyn was one of the first to reach the horses. She chose one of the smaller mares, knowing that she was the lightest of all the defenders, and soon was sitting atop him. Within a minute, all but one man had gotten on their horses. The last guard who remained on the ground was single-handedly holding the gates against the Uruks. His horse came near him, ready to be mounted at a second's notice.

"Fell deeds, awake," Théoden breathed. The door was struck, but still held. "Now for wrath," the king continued, and Aragorn unsheathed Andúril, "now for ruin, and a red dawn!" He put on his helmet.

Gúthwyn withdrew Framwine just as a low, loud horn call sounded throughout the Deeping-coomb. In one great push, the door burst open, revealing a mass of Uruk-hai. They were outnumbered by those that held the battering ram. Yet it mattered not.

"Forth Eorlingas!" Théoden yelled, and the other men took up his call. Gúthwyn did not shout—she did not want her uncle to know that his niece was perishing alongside him. But for that concern, she would have cried louder than the rest.

With Théoden leading them, the defenders raced out to meet Saruman's army. The Uruks tried to attack them, but it was to no avail. Gúthwyn could have sung as, one by one, they were cut down, slaughtered in the midst of their triumph. Her heart was beating with wild exhilaration as she beheaded one of the creatures, then gave Framwine the delicious taste of another one.

Unstoppable, they rode through the fortress. None could withstand them. Not a single Rider fell as they tore apart the ranks of the Uruks, leaving few behind to tell the tale. And then the sunlight hit their faces as Théoden charged out into the bright morning, riding only for death and no hope for himself. A wide grin stretched across Gúthwyn's face as she smelt the blood and felt the black flesh ripping under the brutal caress of her blade. She could not remember a time when she had been happier.

Through it all, the horn was still ringing. It gave Gúthwyn strength as the cavalry stormed down the causeway, casting Uruks from it left and right. She could feel each note trembling in her heart, causing it to nearly burst with delight. The morning was beautiful, she was with her people, and she had a sword in her hands. For the first time since Mordor, she was Gúthwyn of Rohan, the proud niece of Théoden King.

They had thrown themselves into the hordes of Uruk-hai, whose numbers were still in the thousands, when all of a sudden a great whinnying echoed throughout the entire valley, covering even the sonorous horn of Helm Hammerhand. Even the Uruks turned to look and gape in awe at the sight before them. A single white horse, at the head of the steep slope leading into the gorge, had reared up on its two feet, heedless of the peril below. It was Shadowfax. Gandalf had returned to them in the hour of doom.

"Gandalf," Gúthwyn whispered, and she was not the only one. Others mouthed his name in astonishment as they beheld him, a shining star above a sea of darkness. Many of the Uruks held their hands over their eyes, seemingly unable to endure the brilliant white gleaming from his robes.

Yet Gandalf was not alone. Another Rider came up behind him. Gúthwyn's heart exploded in joy as she recognized her brother, Éomer son of Éomund, Second Marshal of the Mark. In full glory he now sat upon Firefoot, by the side of Gandalf the White, and held up his sword. It gleamed in the sun. "Rohirrim!" he called.

Thousands of hoofs pounded onto the ground as—her breath caught in her throat—the _éored_ that Éomer had been leading, now swelled to a vast cavalry, filed up behind their leader. Against all odds, the tide had turned. The Uruks quailed, caught between the hammer and the anvil. No matter where they went, they were trapped. Rohan had been saved.

"To the King!" Éomer now shouted, and the Eorlingas lifted their voices in a great cry that smote the spirit of the Uruks. Gúthwyn watched in utter, complete bliss as the son of Éomund rode down to the aid of her people, bringing with him countless Riders. Even next to Gandalf he shone out amongst them all: Her brother, the people's savior… Éomer.

The Uruks tried to organize a hasty strategy, facing the oncoming cavalry with their pikes before them, but they were backing up as they went. Like a sword cuts through flesh the _éored_ collided with the White Wizard's army; at the same time, Théoden gave a cry, and the defenders attacked with a fierce renewal. All pains and aches within Gúthwyn were long forgotten as she slashed and hacked a wide circle about her. She had expected death this morning, and there would be death—but not for her.

Now, the Uruk-hai were beginning to flee. Éomer's men were slaughtering them mercilessly, and their numbers were diminishing by the hundreds. Like dark ants they swarmed over the valley, trying to head out of it. All of the Riders pursued them, but when they saw what lay there they stopped, and stared in shock. For a moment, Gúthwyn wondered if she had lost too much blood.

A forest of trees had somehow planted itself in the gorge, effectively blocking off all hopes of escape for the Uruks. To Gúthwyn, it reminded her of Fangorn Forest, and a chill raced through her. The Uruk-hai who had plunged themselves into the woods, choosing a menacing line of trees over the cold bite of the Rider's swords, would never live to see another sunrise.

The Rohirrim approached the forest in wonder, but Éomer rode before them all. Gúthwyn was farther down the line, yet she heard every word that he said. "Stay out of the forest! Keep away from the trees!"

She did not need to be told twice. As Éomer checked Firefoot, and wheeled around to face the woods, something strange happened. The last of the Uruks disappeared into the forest, and all was quiet. But then the air became filled with shrieks and cries; the trees were _moving_ of their own accord, as if they were finishing off the last of Saruman's army. Watching them in amazement, Gúthwyn realized that they were doing exactly that.

Wild cheers of exultation arose from the Riders. The Battle of Helm's Deep had been won. Rohan was free. The wound on Gúthwyn's stomach bled.


	23. Crumbling Façade

**The Rohan Pride Trilogy**

**Part Two: Reunions**

**Book Two**

**By: WhiteLadyOfTroy**

**Summary:  
**Gúthwyn's mission has failed. Now that she is traveling with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to find the Hobbits, she finds herself being confronted with her past, as well as some painful experiences in the present.

**About the Trilogy:  
**I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. _The Fellowship of the Ring_ had two books within the text, as did _The Two Towers_ and _The Return of the King_. The only change I have made is the first part in my trilogy: Alone. That was divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where _The Fellowship of the Ring_ started. Reunions will be divided into two books.

**About Chapter Twenty-Three:  
**As always, I will be using a blend of both movie and book canon. Sorry for any confusion. Please correct me on anything that seems amiss, out-of-character, or non-canon. Finally, just an advance warning: Lately, my chapters have been bouncing back and forth between extremely long or rather short.

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

Less than half an hour after the Uruks' utter annihilation, Gúthwyn was slipping through a small passageway in the Hornburg. One hand had been clamped firmly on her stomach, keeping the rock in it as well as the blood from flowing too freely. She nearly stumbled into the wall as she went, but forced herself to keep moving. Any moment now, the Riders would return to the armory, ready to deposit their weapons and begin the long process of burying the dead.

Gúthwyn had returned to the Hornburg before most of the other warriors had, and certainly well in advance of her uncle or brother. It pained her heart to have to avoid reuniting with Éomer for a second time, but she could not let him know that she had been on the battlefield. He would immediately tell Théoden, and from her uncle Éowyn would soon find out. She was more fearful of her sister's reaction than she was of the king's.

All this was in her mind as she hastily scurried into the armory. Mercifully, no one was there. Even though she could not afford to waste time, for a moment she stood there, indecision making her pause. Should she put on her dress? Théoden had last seen her wearing it, and he would suspect something if she greeted him in different garb. Yet if she donned the extra clothing, she would have a harder time keeping the blood in her wound from flowing.

She was not actually planning on seeing Théoden until she had sewn up her wound, but in order to get to the private chambers deeper in the fortress she would have to pass through nearly the entire Hornburg. The women and children were being notified of the victory even as she reentered the fortress, so her presence would not draw questions; however, the people would definitely want to speak to her.

Sighing, Gúthwyn at last decided to wear the dress. Casting all of her armor off—it was now sweaty, and stained with blood, but eventually it would be cleaned—she let it fall back into the pile. The mail shirt was difficult to remove, as she had to carefully work around the stone fragment. Eventually, though, it too was in the heap.

Going to the barrel of broken spears, she retrieved Borogor's pack and opened it. Swiftly withdrawing the dress, she pulled it unceremoniously over her head, then took out Borogor's cloak. It would not attract too much attention. She wrapped it about herself as if she was cold, but in reality she was covering any possible bloodstains. Her hands were remarkably steady as she did all of this.

Taking her sword, she wiped it off with the spare cloak she had worn in the battle, knowing that in the aftermath of the carnage she had witnessed it would not appear strange to the person who found it. When Framwine was as clean as she could get it, she sheathed the blade, and attached it to her pack with a couple of bowstrings she saw lying around.

Finished, she shouldered the pack, and left the armory. Throughout the entire passage, she was worried that someone would walk down and see her. Questions would be asked, and depending on whom the interrogator was—her mind briefly flashed back to Aragorn, brandishing Beregil's book in front of her like a prized trophy—more might be revealed than she could afford to divulge, but these fears vanished when she moved through a set of doors and came into the inner court.

It was nearly full to bursting with the wounded. With every step that she took, more were arriving. Some had to be carried in by their friends, missing either their legs or bleeding too profusely to walk. Others staggered around, trying to find a place to sit down and staunch a cut. The women attended to them, hardly even taking the time to revel in the unexpected victory before tending to the slain and hurt.

Gúthwyn weaved her way through all of this, wincing now and then as she saw some of the more serious injuries. Worse than the sights were the sounds: Ever and anon, a cry of grief would rise into the air as a loved one was discovered to be dead. She tried to banish these from her mind, but it was weak and could not ignore the wailing of the women and children.

And then, she heard the sound of her name being called. Turning, she scanned the crowd for her hailer. At length, her eyes fell upon one of the guards; his right hand was performing the finishing touches on a self-made sling, but his gaze was fixed on her.

"Tun!" she exclaimed, momentarily forgetting about her task and racing over to him. Overwhelmed with relief—and shock—at the sight of his assuredly safe figure, she enveloped him in a tight embrace, careful to avoid jostling his arm. "Thank the Valar… but how? I thought—"

A sharp burst of agony cut her off, and she slid one hand down to cover her stomach. No grimace of pain did she allow to pass over her features; as a result, Tun noticed nothing. "A large group of men was forced to retreat into the caves. I looked for you, but did not see you," he told her, loosening his hold so that she could pull away if she wanted. Even after a battle, propriety was still observed.

Gúthwyn did step back slightly, letting her other hand fall onto her stomach as well, but she remained close to him. There was hardly any room for movement, nor was it her wish to take up more space than she had to when the wounded were still coming in. "I was farther back," she lied, and for the briefest instant hesitated as she tried to think of something she could have reasonably been doing. "One of the women was in a panic, and I was trying to calm her down."

"For half of the night?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

She smiled. "I was not avoiding you," she replied. "She needed a lot of help; I was not even aware that the soldiers were there."

When Tun seemed even more puzzled, she realized that she obviously would have noticed the warriors' presence, and hastened to correct her mistake. "Hardly aware, I mean." In an attempt to distract him, she asked, "How did your arm break?"

He looked sheepish. "I did not have enough balance when an Uruk attacked me, and I fell. Mercifully, not on my sword-arm." His gaze turned sober as he glanced around at the men about them. "My injury is nothing, compared to some of what I have seen." Lowering his voice, he added, "Did you hear of what befell one of the guard's sons?"

She shook her head.

"They say half of his face is gone, and he is only eleven."

Gúthwyn's eyes widened. "Tun, you can tell me all that you wish of men that have been killed or maimed, but pray do not speak to me of so poor a child."

He gave a short bow, not seeming particularly inclined to talk about the boy either. "What are you planning on doing now?" he asked, straightening. "I can walk with you for awhile, if you wish."

"Thank you, but I do not want you even thinking about anything other than rest at this point," she scolded him lightly. "I will return soon, but I desire to find my sister and brother. Théoden is probably busy at the moment, though I hope to speak with him as well." She actually did want to do those things—just after she had sewn herself up.

Tun winced. "I do not need any rest," he replied, but she would have none of it.

"I will find out," she warned him, "if you have not done as I told you."

"Fine," he grumbled, though his eyes were sparkling. "Farewell, then."

"Farewell," she replied, and smiled before turning away. Her mind now entirely bent on the task she had yet to fulfill, she did not see Legolas' eyes following her every move, nor did she notice when his footsteps began trailing after hers.

* * *

"How many dead, do you think?" Gimli's question echoed hauntingly in Legolas' ears. He was painfully aware that he was the only Elf alive at Helm's Deep, but he did not want to think about why that was.

"Nearly all of the Uruk-hai," Aragorn replied, breaking Legolas from his disturbed thoughts. "All but fifty or so of the men… Alas, hardly any of the boys survived."

"They should not have fought," Legolas murmured, his heart grieving for the many a mother who was now childless. "Not enough winters were in them."

"And the Elves?" Gimli pressed. "Haldir?"

Legolas and Aragorn exchanged heavy glances. "Dead," Aragorn answered at last. "Not a single one left."

Gimli's mouth opened and closed, at a loss for words. "Oh," he finally murmured, letting out a sigh.

His two friends continued to talk about the battle in subdued tones, but Legolas' attention was distracted by the sudden sight of Gúthwyn. She was conversing with her friend, the guard, whose name he had yet to catch. Not for the first time, he wondered if there were any feelings other than friendship between them. Gúthwyn did not seem as if she were in love with him, but it was clear from the way the guard's eyes lit up when she approached him that he was enamored of her.

Yet soon, Legolas' thoughts were not on the guard. His eyes narrowed as he noticed how Gúthwyn had both of her hands pressed over her stomach, something she did when she was feeling nauseous or frightened. Granted, she did it fairly often, most of the time not even realizing it herself, but there was something different about the gesture now. He could not quite put his finger on it, though.

By now, Aragorn and Gimli had long passed him, going on to examine more of the damage. He should have gone to catch up with them, but curiosity got the better of him. As he continued to look at Gúthwyn, hoping to decipher this newest mystery, he began observing the slight grimaces that came over her face when she moved, and the way her hands were slowly turning whiter—as if she were clutching her stomach tightly.

And when she turned from the guard, he watched her walking, and marked the stride instantly as that of a warrior when he has been wounded, try as he might to conceal it. She was very good at minimizing the winces, the slight staggering, and the pale face as she went, but he knew better. Even Aragorn could not often keep his thoughts from the Elves.

Unexpectedly, his mind flashed back to a boy he had seen during the battle. He had been taller than most of his companions, yet still a foot shorter than him. Much like Gúthwyn was. And he had been grabbing his stomach in pain—just as Gúthwyn was now. Legolas had helped him into the Hornburg. The whole way up, the boy had been tense, but now he realized that it was from fear, not agony…

_So, Gúthwyn, you fought at Helm's Deep._ He should have known. She was too proud a fighter to submit docilely to being kept in the caves with women and children while great deeds were at hand. As a matter of fact, she had not even argued upon being told to go to the caves; that, at the very least, they should have expected from her. Éowyn had certainly done so.

And now, if Gúthwyn was not going to find a place where she could sew her wound up herself, he was a Dwarf. His eyes narrowed when she disappeared into a small passage, one that led to a more private end of the fortress. Almost before he was aware of what he was doing, he began making his way through the crowd, following her slim frame with the same determinedness as when he had been pursuing Merry and Pippin.

When he came to the passage, he slowed down, and took a quick glance inside. He was just in time to catch the sight of her back rounding a corner. Going quietly even for an Elf, he went after her, always keeping a certain distance. Gúthwyn did not seem so worried of pursuit now; she had let down her guard, as he could see when she stumbled against a wall and gasped softly.

For a moment, she stood there, breathing heavily. Legolas waited just around the corner. When she started once more, he matched her strides with his own. At length, she unknowingly led him to the end of the hall, in which there were several doors. Her hand closed about one of the handles, and she slipped inside a room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Legolas approached it. There was no crack through which he could look—she had made sure of that—but there was a small window at just his height. He glanced through into a bedroom, one that would have been given to some member of the royal family when they visited. Gúthwyn had gone to the bed, and was casting her cloak onto it. Two things tumbled out: A needle, glimmering in the sunlight from a large, high-up window, and a spool of thread.

He waited for the opportune moment to reveal himself, when she would be forced to admit that she had fought. The Valar knew how long she had concealed the wound. Even as he watched her, she was trembling violently. Reaching up, she began pulling off her dress. At first, Legolas averted his eyes, but then he realized that she was wearing leggings and a tunic beneath it.

Gúthwyn lifted the bottom of her shirt slightly, and he could see none of her skin, so much blood was there. Her fingers slipped in it as she started prodding at the wound, wincing with each touch. Now was the time. Taking a deep breath, wondering how she would react to his presence, Legolas raised his fist and knocked on the door three times. Then he stepped away, so it would not appear as though he had been observing her every movement.

There was a long delay before the door began to open. Her face peered out, and then blanched as she saw him. "What are you doing here?" she demanded shakily.

"You fought," he answered, and her eyes darted wildly around them before she replied.

"I have been in the caves."

He did not want her to know that he had been watching her. "I saw you going through the court. Your walk was akin to that of a wounded fighter's."

"That does not mean anything," she snapped, though her face was wary. "It has been a long night."

"If you are not wounded," Legolas responded, glancing at the hand she had used to open the door, "then why is there blood on your fingers?"

She quickly curled her fist around the handle so that he could not see her scarlet fingertips. "Tun was hurt," she said. Her eyes were still roaming all their surroundings, as if she were searching for an escape.

"Tun had his arm in a sling, not in bandages," he retorted, taking a guess as to whom she had spoken of. When her eyes widened, he knew his assumption had been correct, and sought to press his advantage before she could deflect anything else. "During the battle, I helped you into the Hornburg, did I not? Your hands were clutched over your stomach, and you could barely move from the pain."

Gúthwyn's face contorted furiously. "How dare you follow me in here, and press these accusations upon me? Leave!" She made to shut the door, but before she could his hand closed over hers. As if she had been scalded, she yanked it away, only realizing her mistake when he opened the door even further and stepped inside.

Her eyes widened in panic, and she started backing up. "Get out!" she nearly shrieked, pointing to the door. "Leave me alone!"

Legolas did not close the door, as that would have only served to frighten her even more, but he leaned against the frame. "Gúthwyn, I know as well as you do that you fought. That needle and thread on the bed is not for embroidery. You were wounded."

She had been caught, and they both knew it. "Fine," she snarled, her hands clenching into fists. "What does it matter to you?"

"Because I am not letting you sew that wound up yourself."

For a moment, Gúthwyn stared at him, dumbfounded; then, she scrambled away from him, so that she was closer to the far wall. "You have no right to order me about!" she hissed, her arms folding over her stomach. "Leave!"

"Even now," Legolas replied calmly, "your hands are shaking. You are in no condition to use that needle, especially when one wrong movement could cause irreparable damage."

She tried desperately to still her quaking hands, but was unsuccessful. "I will not tell you again," she said at length, pointing at the door. "Get out!"

"If I go," Legolas said, not wanting to do this, but needing to keep her from sewing the wound, "then it is straight to your uncle, or to your brother, to tell them that you have been in the battle."

What little color was left in Gúthwyn's face drained out. She flattened herself against the wall, folding her arms tightly and staring at him with horrified eyes. "You would not," she said, but without conviction in her voice.

"I would," Legolas said. "If that is what it takes to stop you from hurting yourself."

"Do not pretend this is about my well being!" she exclaimed. "It is a lie!"

"Even if you do not believe me, I will still go to Théoden." Legolas kept his voice firm, yet determinedly rid it of any frustration or anger.

She was silent.

"Gúthwyn, if you let me sew your wound, I promise I will not spill a word. Such a guarantee you will not get from anyone else, not even from Aragorn or Gimli."

"No," she replied, pressing herself harder into the wall. "I can do it myself!"

Legolas gave a short bow. "Then I shall find Théoden, and see what he thinks." He took the handle, and started to leave the room.

"No!" she cried, and he stopped, though left one foot in the passage as he glanced back at her.

She appeared to be debating with herself; Legolas could almost see the wheels turning in her mind. He waited patiently, knowing that he had already pushed his bounds as far as they would go. Having to play the role of blackmailer was not something he liked doing, but it was plain to see that she would only harm herself if left alone to tend the wound. Even the most skilled of healers rarely sewed themselves up, recognizing the dangers of an unsteady hand.

A full minute had gone by before Gúthwyn shifted and looked at him. "Fine," she growled, her face both enraged and terrified at the same time. "You can sew it, if it pleases you to discomfort me."

Legolas slowly closed the door. The soft shutting noise it made caused her to tense up again, and as he stepped forward, he said, "Gúthwyn, I have never tried to harm you. Nor would I desire to. I am not here to discomfort you—I am here because I am worried for you."

She did not move away from the wall. "Just get it over with," she snapped, pointing at the needle and thread still on top of the bed. He took the gesture as an invitation and went to it, taking both items.

"Do you have any rags or bandages?" he asked her. At the sound of his voice, she jumped slightly, and then nodded. He reached for her bag, which was only a foot from him, but she leaped forward and snatched it up before his fingers made contact with the leather. Hastily, she rummaged through it, her face now white as the _niphredil_ that grew on the fair grass of Lothlórien.

Withdrawing several wads of fabric from the bag, she all but threw them onto the bed. Legolas picked them up as she backed away from him. This constant fear, this constant horror of him, he could not even begin to fathom. It had its roots in Haldor, that was for sure, but what had the Elf done to her that was so awful? What had he done that had her now shivering in terror, unable to even look him in the face?

"Gúthwyn," Legolas said quietly, and she glanced at his feet. "Will you lie down?"

At last, her eyes met his, and they were wide with dread. "Why?" she asked, her voice hoarse and unsteady.

"It is the easiest and fastest way to do this," he told her, sensing that for her to obey him was, to her, akin to placing her head beneath a sword. "Please."

Hesitantly, trembling as she did so, Gúthwyn complied, shutting her eyes for a brief moment before opening them. As he drew closer and knelt beside her, he could see a thin film of perspiration beginning to form on her brow, though the morning was rather cold. "Are you feeling ill?" he questioned concernedly. She pressed her lips together tightly, and shook her head.

For a minute, he busied himself with threading the needle and preparing the rags. Her eyes were following his hands ceaselessly, as though afraid that they would suddenly reach out and strike her. When he had finished, and was holding the needle between two fingers, she took a shallow breath, and squeezed her eyes shut.

The next instant, she whimpered in fright and opened them: He had begun pulling up her tunic. Glancing at her, feeling a strange kind of pity for this young woman, he gently inquired, "Does it hurt?"

Once more, she shook her head, but when his fingers touched the bloody flesh she cringed. Legolas rolled her shirt up a little further, allowing himself to see the wound fully. It was not life threatening, mercifully, but deep enough to cause serious damage, should the blood flow not be stopped. There was a good-sized rock embedded in the skin that was the source of the problem.

"How did you get this?" he asked, taking one of the rags and getting ready to pull it out. Unfortunately, there was no water nearby, but he could not leave her to retrieve some.

It was a long time before Gúthwyn answered. It was as if she had forgotten how. "Explosion," she finally managed.

His eyes narrowed, remembering that he had wondered what she was doing fighting alongside the Elves. "Why were you on the Deeping Wall?"

As he spoke, he quickly reached in and pulled out the rock. She drew in a sharp breath, but grew even more panicked when he pressed a rag on it. As the cloth turned scarlet, she started wriggling underneath him, trying to squirm away from his ministrations.

"Gúthwyn," he said, though not unkindly. "If you move, it only makes things harder."

She was quelled, yet the look in her eyes was difficult to behold. He had only seen such fear on her when Haldor had been clutching her. _What did he do to you?_ Legolas wondered, absent-mindedly taking another rag and replacing the soiled one.

His fingers touched her skin, and a choked moan escaped her. "D-Did not w-want Théoden t-to see me," she ground out, then arched upwards as he briefly removed the rag and lifted her tunic up more for a better look.

Legolas put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her back down. She did not struggle anymore against him, but was now trembling uncontrollably.

"Gúthwyn," he said calmingly, "I cannot do this if you are moving."

For a few seconds, she was still. Relieved, Legolas relocated his hand to her stomach, using it as a further means of keeping her body steady. With his other hand, he lifted the needle, and was about to begin when he noticed something off about her ribs. Frowning, he raised her shirt a little higher. The bottom ribs, their outlines alarmingly sharp against her skin, were slightly crooked.

"What happened to your ribs?" he asked.

"B-Broken," she grunted, and her eyes were clouded with new pain.

"You seem rather accident-prone," he said, trying to get her to relax, but she merely clenched her fists even tighter. Sighing, he was about to return to the task when he saw another strange sight. Starting at her ribs, and disappearing beneath her shirt, was a long scar, looking suspiciously like a welt from a whip. There was another one near it, fainter, but there all the same.

Too late, he realized that he had been pulling her shirt up much farther than he had a right to; his mind was bent on seeing the wounds. Only when her hand clamped down on his, forcing the tunic back down, did he see what he had almost done. A gasp erupting from her lips, Gúthwyn flung herself into a sitting position, drawing backwards and staring at him. Her eyes were wide with embarrassment, and her chest was heaving frantically up and down.

"Are you done _examining me?_" she hissed, looking as if she had more than half a mind to get up and run away.

Legolas could have kicked himself. "I am so sorry," he hastily apologized, truly meaning every fervent word. "I did not mean—you had more wounds—" How could he have let that happen? It was bad enough to do that—even accidentally—to any woman, but with Gúthwyn it was a thousand times worse. She already despised him; this would only make her hate him even more.

"You are healing my _stomach!_" she cried, jabbing her finger at it and covering up the subsequent wince. "Nothing else!"

"Gúthwyn, I am sorry. I had no right; I was not thinking." His words were quiet, but inside he was yelling at himself for being so thoughtless. He did not doubt that he had ruined any chance of a civil conversation with her.

In response, she edged away from him, yet seemed to keep his earlier threat in mind. "W-What do you w-want from me?" she whispered, now quivering in fear.

He leaned forward, and placing a hand on her shoulder looked her directly in the eye. Gúthwyn cringed terrifically, but made no move to slap it off. She seemed more afraid of whatever it was she thought he would do if she did. "Gúthwyn, my actions were inexcusable. You have every right to be angry with me. At this point, I want nothing from you now except that you let me heal your wound. And I would have you hold your tunic in place, so that I do not repeat what just happened."

Her face was pale as she nodded shakily. It took her nearly a minute to lie back down, and when she did her eyes were fixed on his hands. Carefully, Legolas took the last clean rag and wiped off the blood that had accumulated there. He knew she was intently watching his every motion, and did not begrudge her of so simple a thing—especially since he had already broken her fragile trust.

At length, he took up the needle. "Are you ready?" he asked, placing a hand on her stomach in preparation.

She whimpered, closed her eyes, and nodded. With a sigh, he started sewing. The cut was not large, nor was a thing like stitching too painful for the patient, but no sooner had Legolas commenced than Gúthwyn panicked. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps that heaved her entire torso upwards; with every new stitch, a soft moan escaped her lips, now bruised from her biting them; underneath her eyelids, he could see the eyes darting frantically around.

"Gúthwyn," he said when he was less than halfway through. She froze, pinned to the floor by the sound of his voice. "Is this hurting you?"

She shook her head, yet when his fingers touched the wound she winced. Her eyes remained closed, still roving about wildly.

"If you do not move," Legolas continued, wondering if it was truly her stomach that pained her or something else, "then this will be over faster."

The flesh on Gúthwyn's lips that was not black and blue turned white as she clamped them together. Legolas resumed his sewing, trying to quicken the process for her sake. He had never seen her fall apart like this before. She was sweating now, crying out—so quietly that he could barely hear it—every time his hands moved to create a new stitch. When one of her fists uncurled, he saw that it was bleeding from how deeply her nails had dug into it.

He was finishing the last stitch when his breath caught in his throat. A tear had escaped from her left eye, sliding down the cheek and landing with a soft _plink_ on the floor. He lowered the needle in astonishment. "Gúth—"

It was no use. She had felt that tear as keenly as he had seen it, and with a frightened gasp she flung herself up and scrambled away from him. Crawling to a bucket that had been in the corner, she leaned over it and retched. The gagging noises were terrible to hear; her entire body shook with them. He tried to go to her, but when she saw him out of the corner of her eye she vomited even more. In horror, he stared at her, now thinking of Haldor's cruel gaze and the malignancy in his voice.

When at last Gúthwyn was done, wiping her mouth on her sleeve before shakily getting to her feet, he stood up as well.

"Gúthwyn," he said, and she pressed her hand over her mouth. Nothing short of absolute terror and mortification was in her eyes as she beheld him. Saddened, he asked quietly, "What did he do to you?"

Slowly, she lowered her hand. "I think," she began, her voice trembling and the thin frame of her body quaking, "you have humiliated me enough for one day!"

Before he could say anything, she stormed over to her bag, snatched both it and her dress up, and ran from the room.


	24. Departure

**The Rohan Pride Trilogy**

**Part Two: Reunions**

**Book Two**

**By: WhiteLadyOfTroy**

**Summary:  
**Gúthwyn's mission has failed. Now that she is traveling with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to find the Hobbits, she finds herself being confronted with her past, as well as some painful experiences in the present.

**About the Trilogy:  
**I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. _The Fellowship of the Ring_ had two books within the text, as did _The Two Towers_ and _The Return of the King_. The only change I have made is the first part in my trilogy: Alone. That was divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where _The Fellowship of the Ring_ started. Reunions will be divided into two books.

**About Chapter Twenty-Four:  
**As always, I will be using a blend of both movie and book canon. Sorry for any confusion. You will notice that I have altered a conversation from the book, so that it took place in the Keep rather than before the Huorn trees. Part of this is because in the book, it was the Rider Erkenbrand who came to the rescue, not Éomer. I apologize for the inconsistency with canon, but it must be done. Please correct me on anything else that seems amiss, out-of-character, or non-canon. Finally, just an advance warning: Lately, my chapters have been bouncing back and forth between extremely long or rather short.

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

Feeling as if she were about to cry, Gúthwyn ran down the stone passageway, unable to slow her stumbling feet. Even when her stomach protested, she did not stop. The only thought on her mind was to get as far away from Legolas as possible.

_How could I let him do that to me?_ she wondered, her face paling as she remembered his hands prodding at the wound. With every touch, memories of Haldor came flooding back to her, so brutal in their vividness that they had her moaning in fright. The wound had not pained her at all, yet she had been squirming under Legolas' ministrations just as she had under Haldor's far crueler ones.

And the worst part was, Legolas had seen all of her weaknesses. If there had been any color in her cheeks, they would have been bright red with mortification. Horrible waves of shame crashed over her as she thought of how terrified and quivering she had been in his hands, how powerless and flustered she had become when he blackmailed her. She should have known that he would threaten her—had Haldor not done so countless times? But when Legolas had done so, she had been unprepared for how much his words would sting her.

As she drew closer to the inner court, she still did not slow down. She thought that if she did, she would succumb to the tears that were battling against her. One of them had won. And he had seen it.

She was so preoccupied with her miserable thoughts that she did not notice a man stepping into the passage, and consequently ran into him.

"I-I am sorry," Gúthwyn murmured, wincing: He was wearing his armor, and her head had crashed into the breastplate.

Glancing up, she felt her heart freeze. Éomer was staring down at her, his dark eyes wide in shock.

"Gúthwyn?" he asked hesitantly, looking as though he could hardly believe what he was seeing. "Is that—?"

She cut him off, dropping her pack and flinging her arms around him. The joy spreading through her momentarily overwhelmed her embarrassment and terror at the hands of Legolas, and as Éomer returned the embrace, she felt safer than she had been for many months. She did not care that his strong arms were crushing her to him, nor that her stomach was protesting as he lifted her off of her feet.

"Théoden said you were back," Éomer breathed, his voice choked with emotion, "but I did not believe him… I thought it was another of Gríma's tricks…"

"No, it is I, dear brother," she replied, the tears threatening to overcome her now those of unparalleled excitement.

He pulled back from her, setting her down so that he could look her over. "You are thin," was the first thing he said.

Gúthwyn blushed. "Is that all?" she asked, though the grin stretching across her face was almost more than her cheeks could bear.

A chuckle escaped him, and she delighted in the sound of his laughter. "No, my sister, not in the least! Where have you been? Long have I searched for you, thinking that I looked in vain—yet Éowyn would not let my doubt deter me."

Her hand drifted over to her stomach, the motion nearly imperceptible, and her eyes clouded. Éomer noticed the change in her mood, and asked quietly, "Is something wrong?"

Steeling herself to forget Legolas' hands upon her, cold and thin as Haldor's were, she shook her head, and brought back a shaky smile. "No," she whispered. "Nothing at all."

He put both of his hands, calloused from ceaseless war and riding, on her shoulders, and for a long time he gazed into her eyes. "Never again did I imagine I would see you," he murmured, and to her surprise he appeared pale. "When rumor came that you had been sent to Isengard, Éowyn and I tried to convince Théoden to at least determine the truth, but he was too far under the Serpent's enchantment, and nothing was done." His face twisted into a scowl, and his arms shook with anger. "If I ever see that snake, I shall tear him to shreds with my bare hands for all that he has done to you and Éowyn!"

Gúthwyn smiled. "And I will see him begging for mercy as he lies bleeding beneath you," she said, then hugged him once more. "But for now, I would not have anything foul mar our reunion. Tell me about what has happened to you!"

"What about yourself?" Éomer asked, his beard scratching at Gúthwyn's forehead.

"No," she said, fighting valiantly against the dark cloud that sought to cover her at his words. "Let us not spoil this occasion with such a tale. Please, I wish to hear what has befallen you."

When the two of them separated, he nodded, though his eyes searched hers for a moment before relenting. "You will hear much, if you accompany me on my way to the Keep."

She agreed eagerly, her encounter with Legolas already fading from her mind. Picking up her pack, she followed Éomer as he began walking down the passage. "Tun told me that you trained him," she said as they entered the inner court. "I am glad that you did, and wonder what moved you to do so."

Éomer glanced at her. "He was in bad straits when you were taken," he replied somberly. "When Théoden stopped calling him to the table—which was a mercy, as all of the tales of you were told under Gríma's gloating eye—he had nothing to do, nothing to work for. I thought he had some potential, and decided to train him. If naught else, he could become a guard and earn a decent living for his family."

"Thank you," Gúthwyn said in relief. "He has sworn service to me."

Éomer's eyes quickly fixed on her. "Did he?" he questioned, seeming interested. "As…?"

"My champion and protector," she answered, grinning. "He is a wonderful man."

Her brother raised his eyebrows. "Do I need to watch him like a hawk guarding its young?"

"Please," she giggled. They were nearing the Keep now, and as they went men called out to both of them. Éomer responded with a nod and a wave, while Gúthwyn gave a cheery grin. "I am not young anymore."

As she said that, she felt some of her good mood sliding. No, she was not young. All of her innocence had been torn away from her by Haldor, never to return. He had robbed her of everything: Her pride, her dignity, her purity. Even though he was dead, she could not rid herself of him. He was like a leech in her mind, befouling it with hissed words and horrible mutterings.

"Gúthwyn?"

She shuddered, and blinked. Then she realized that she had come to an abrupt halt and was trembling.

"What is it?" Éomer pressed, taking her by the arm gently and helping her along.

Shaking her head, Gúthwyn lied, "I felt faint for a moment—no sleep did I receive last night."

"Perhaps you should get some rest, then," he suggested. They were outside of the door to the makeshift throne room, and the guards bowed aside to let them pass. Éomer's fingers rested on the handle.

"Are you going to take council with Théoden on what is to be done?" she wanted to know.

He nodded, still not opening the door. "Gandalf has some tidings, and our uncle would know how he came to aid the defenders."

"Then, in that case," Gúthwyn said, "rest can wait."

He did not want to let her in. "I have not heard the wizard's news yet," he told her guardedly. "It might be something not meant for your ears."

"At this point," she returned, "it cannot be more than gruesome carnage, and I have seen plenty of that. And do not forget that I, too, have not yet heard how it is you managed to bring the _éored_ here to win the battle. I am curious, brother."

Éomer looked at her, as if mentally evaluating her. At length, he sighed. "If you wish," he said. "But if Théoden does not want you present, then pray do not argue against him."

Grudgingly, she agreed, and he pushed the door open. Together, the two of them walked into the room. Théoden was there, surrounded by his guards; Gandalf, Aragorn, and Gimli were present also. The entire group glanced up as she and Éomer strode in.

"Gúthwyn, what are you doing here?" Théoden asked her, though he did not seem angry.  
She gave a short curtsy, which looked ridiculous, as she was not wearing a dress. "I have not congratulated you on a battle hard-fought," she replied, the smile on her face partly for secret reasons. "Nothing else have I heard today other than the bravery of the Rohirrim, showing itself in noble deeds even when all hope seemed lost."

He nodded gravely. "But, alas," he replied, "we lost many good men, and their deaths I mourn, all the more so because we cannot bury them properly."

Gúthwyn bowed her head. It was true. Only a few defenders had survived the onslaught of the Uruk-hai. She was one of them. The guards in the Keep, now greatly reduced in number, the wounded, and those who had retreated into the caves were the others.

Théoden sighed, and then turned to Gandalf. "Once more you come in the hour of need, unlooked-for," he said, his eyes wide in wonder. Gúthwyn glanced at the wizard, greatly desiring to know how he came with her brother to Helm's Deep.

"Unlooked-for?" Gandalf replied, seeming puzzled. "I said that I would return and meet you here."

Gúthwyn had not known of this, but such council between the two had most likely taken place in the early morning of their departure from Edoras, when she had been asleep.

"But you did not name the hour," Théoden returned, "nor foretell the manner of your coming. Strange help you bring." A small smile came to his face. "You are mighty in wizardry, Gandalf the White!"

Gúthwyn gave a start to hear Gandalf being referred to as the same color as Saruman, but she should have expected it. Saruman's robes were not even a pure white, after all.

"That may be," Gandalf said, though he shook his head as he spoke. "But if so, I have not shown it yet. I have but given good council in peril, and made use of the speed of Shadowfax. Your own valor has done more, and the stout legs of the Westfold-men marching through the night."

"And the woods?" Théoden asked. Some of the guards exchanged dark looks at the memory of the menacing trees that had mysteriously planted themselves in the valley overnight. They had not yet disappeared, and Gúthwyn had heard many of the women and children talking ceaselessly about them. All of the adults were afraid of them—only the young, who still held tales of the Ents close to their hearts, delighted in their appearance.

Gandalf laughed, though not unkindly. "The trees? Nay, I saw the wood as plainly as you did."

At that moment, the doors into the Keep opened, and Legolas entered. Everyone glanced at him as he came towards him, but otherwise his lateness went unnoticed. Yet Gúthwyn tensed in fear, moving closer to Éomer so that their bodies were almost touching. Her face was growing flushed.

Éomer looked at her, confused, but upon seeing her distraught face he wrapped an arm about her shoulders. He clearly had no idea what was troubling her, and she was probably only fueling his argument that she should not have been allowed to hear Gandalf's advice, but Gúthwyn did not care. Beside her brother, she felt as safe as she had with few others: Théodred, Cobryn, Borogor.

Legolas' eyes met hers for a brief instant, but when she paled and looked away, she felt them leave her. The wound on her stomach prickled uneasily.

"But that is no deed of mine," Gandalf said then, and she tried to pay attention to what he was saying. "It is a thing beyond the counsel of the wise. Better than my design, and better even than my hope the event has proved."

Once again, the wizard was speaking in riddles. She did not understand a word that had just passed through his lips. Théoden did not appear to, either.

"Then if not yours," her uncle replied, running his fingers through his golden hair in bewilderment, "whose is the wizardry? Not Saruman's, that is plain. Is there some mightier sage, of whom we have yet to learn?"

Gúthwyn could not even begin to picture the likes of someone more powerful than Saruman or Sauron. Though Morgoth had been far worse than his lieutenant—mercifully, not in their time.

"It is not wizardry," Gandalf told them, "but a power far older: a power that walked the earth, ere Elf sang or hammer rang."

Then, to her mild surprise, he broke into a soft song, one whose low notes brushed melodiously along her ears.

_Ere iron was found or tree was hewn,  
__When young was mountain under moon;  
__Ere ring was made, or wrought was woe,  
__It walked the forests long ago._

Gúthwyn was starting to find his evasive answers rather irritating. She could not guess at what this meant; nor could anyone else, with the possible exception of Aragorn. Casting a quick glance at the Ranger, she saw that his expression had not changed, and she was unable to read it—much as she always had been.

Théoden looked curiously at Gandalf. "And what may be the answer to your riddle?" he wondered.

Gandalf smiled grimly. "If you would learn that, you should come with me to Isengard."

A murmur ran through the room, and Éomer's arm tightened around her. Gúthwyn felt her own body tense. How could they go to Isengard, when Saruman controlled it with his pale white hand? Why would Gandalf propose such a thing?

"To Isengard?" Théoden repeated, looking astonished.

"Yes," Gandalf confirmed, and for a moment Gúthwyn thought he had gone mad. "I shall return to Isengard, and those who will may come with me. There we may see strange things."

She noticed his use of the word "return." Was he referring to the time he had spent captive in the White Wizard's tower, or some other instance that they were yet unaware of?

Even as these thoughts went through her mind, Théoden was shaking his head. "But there are not men enough in the Mark," he responded, "not if they were all gathered together and healed of wounds and weariness, to assault the stronghold of Saruman."

Gúthwyn blanched. If they attacked the Nan Curunír, then Saruman would use the slaves to defend it, as all the Uruk-hai had been emptied in the failed attempt to gain Helm's Deep. They had no armor; they would certainly perish. Overwhelming nausea swept through her as she imagined Cobryn and the others being slain for something that they had had no involvement in.

"Nevertheless to Isengard I go," Gandalf spoke, jolting her out of her horrified musings. "I shall not stay there long. Look for me in Edoras, ere the waning of the moon!"

Instantly, Théoden replied, "Nay! In the dark hour before dawn I doubted, but we will not part now. I will come with you, if that is your counsel."

A gasp slipped through her lips, so soft that only Éomer heard it. He glanced at her as Gandalf said, "I wish to speak with Saruman, as soon as may be."

So Théoden was going to Isengard with the wizard, in order to see the person who had sentenced her to the cage without the blink of an eye. Gúthwyn stiffened, curling her fists as she made her decision. She was not going to watch the men ride away, not if she had any say—which, realistically, she did not, but that was not going to deter her.

Gandalf's voice brought her back to the present. "But how soon and how swiftly will you ride?"

Théoden's response was immediate. "My men are weary with battle," he said, "and I am weary also. For I have ridden far and slept little. Alas! My old age is not feigned nor due only to the whispers of Wormtongue." At the mention of Gríma, Éomer's grip on Gúthwyn's shoulder became so tight that it was painful. She looked at him, and apologetically he loosened his hold. "It is an ill that no leech can wholly cure, not even Gandalf."

"Then let all who are to ride with me rest now," Gandalf replied.

Seizing her chance, Gúthwyn stepped forward. "My lord," she said, addressing Théoden as politely as she could. Her uncle gave a start: he had forgotten that she was in the room.

"Gúthwyn," he answered seriously, covering his surprise. Aragorn glanced at her, and she could tell that he knew what she was about to do. "What is it?"

Éomer's look warned her to keep silent, but Gúthwyn did not listen. "I would request of my king his permission to ride to Isengard with him," she said. Her eyes met his evenly, forgetting all of their training as a slave.

"No." Théoden spoke almost before she had finished. "Saruman is too perilous, and no niece of mine shall go into harm that I let her seek out."

"Yet Éomer is going, is he not? He is my mother's child as well," Gúthwyn retorted. Behind her, she heard Éomer sighing, but determinedly avoided looking at him.

"Éomer is Second Marshal of the Mark! It is a different matter entirely."

"I have been to Isengard before!" Gúthwyn exclaimed impatiently, and she saw Aragorn's eyes narrow. "I have _lived_ there!"

"Gúthwyn," Théoden said, holding up a hand. "I will not discuss this with you here." She realized that the guards were paying close attention to every word that they exchanged. But she was equally aware that it would be far easier for Théoden to refuse her when they were alone.

"Uncle," she replied, now injecting a hint of a pleading tone in her voice, "there are slaves there whom I know. You cannot expect me to pass up a chance to see them again."

"I can and I will," Théoden said. "Do not move me to anger, Gúthwyn. I have no desire for it."

"I see no harm in her going," Gandalf suddenly interjected. For a moment, everyone stared at him in surprise, including Gúthwyn.

"Gandalf, please do not encourage my sister," Éomer said at last, and Gúthwyn shot him a furious glare. "I will not have her endangered for anything in the world."

The wizard's eyes fixed on her brother. "She has already passed through much peril, Éomer son of Éomund, moreso than even you of many travels have. Indeed, unless I am much mistaken, she has spoken with Saruman himself, am I not correct?"

Dumbfounded, half-thinking that Gandalf was joking, Gúthwyn nodded.

"Gandalf," Théoden said, his body tensing in anger, "you do not seem to understand me when I say that she is not to come!"

Gúthwyn was about to open her mouth to plead when Gandalf caught her eye. He gave a small shake of the head, nearly imperceptible, and she was silenced. "You do not wish her to go," the wizard replied, "but there is no reason for her not to. She may learn something. Saruman will not be fool enough to do anything to her, if she is in our company. Indeed, he will have more pressing concerns than the unexpected reappearance of a former captive!"

The wizard was wise enough not to use the word "slave," but even so, Gúthwyn felt a faint blush tinge her cheeks. Théoden flushed as well, and made an impatient noise.

"You are determined to make me second-guess you, Gandalf," he said curtly. "Well, fine: If you see fit to argue for her, then she may go."

"Thank you, my lord!" Gúthwyn breathed, hastily sinking to her knees in a bow. She winced at the gesture, but prayed that it would lessen the brunt of her uncle's temper.

Heavy footsteps sounded nearby, and she glanced up to see Théoden approaching her. "However," he continued, his tone so cold that she shivered from it, "you will be the one who tells your sister why she is to return to Meduseld with the wounded, and you are permitted to ride with the men to Isengard."

"I-I understand, my lord," she answered as she stood up, but inside her stomach was turning to lead. Éowyn would not be pleased at all. Now she was immensely relieved that she had caved in to Legolas' blackmailing.

"Now," Théoden said, "I would suggest leaving the Keep before I change my mind."

She gave a short, shaky bow, and then glanced at Gandalf. There was a faint smile on his face, and she could have sworn that his eyes twinkled when she nodded her head in silent thanks. Why he had chosen to support her, she could only guess. But she would not look a gift horse in the mouth.

Turning around, she caught a glimpse of Éomer's thunderstruck face. She gave him a hesitant smile, and he sighed, visibly relenting. "You will be the death of me, sister," he said, and impulsively she hugged him once more. A few seconds later, they had separated, and she left the Keep. It was time to find Éowyn.

* * *

Night had spread its thick blanket over the valley, mercifully covering those corpses that had yet to be buried. Namely, the Elves and Uruks. No one seemed to want to touch the former, for fear of somehow violating their bodies. Neither could they find Legolas, the only Elf left in Helm's Deep, to consult with: After being present in the Keep with Théoden, he had disappeared, and not even Aragorn knew to where he had gone. As for the latter, there were too many of them—they simply did not know where to begin. 

A cold chill swept over Gúthwyn as she stole outside onto the Deeping Wall, unable to fall asleep; wrapping Borogor's cloak tightly around her, she stood for a moment gazing out at the gorge. Two new mounds had been raised, fresh against the ancient hills. On either side of the Deeping Stream, they were carefully constructed. These contained the fallen Riders and men of the Mark, who had been slain defending their people. Those from the Westfold were on the stream's western banks, while those from the East Dales lay on the other side.

Gúthwyn spent a while silently mourning their loss. Most of them were young, hale as the green leaf that springs up after winter's end, and had much of their life ahead of them. Many were leaving behind a loving wife and young children. Others were sons, and their families bore still the grief of their passing. She was lucky to not have been one of them—and a grudging part of her realized that, in some ways, the retaining of her life was due to Legolas.

Her body trembled, and she hastily put him from her thoughts. She did not want to dwell on what he had done to her, nor on how pathetic and weak she had been under his ministrations. Instead, she turned her mind to Éowyn, whom she had spoken with just a few hours ago.

She sighed, the breath leaving her as a misty cloud that hung briefly in front of her face before disappearing into the dark sky. Éowyn had been disappointed when the news came to her. No, disappointed was an understatement. Gúthwyn had very nearly gone back to Théoden and told him that she would remain at Helm's Deep when she saw the look in her sister's eyes. At least ten apologies she had given, and at length Éowyn had laughingly told her to stop, yet she could not help thinking that Éowyn was beginning to dislike her.

Of course, such ideas were foolish, but Gúthwyn did not know any better. And so the corners of her lips turned downwards, and her eyes were on the ground as she began walking down the Deeping Wall. There was another reason for this, as well: Many of the Elves still lay there, their blood seeping onto the stone, and she had to step over them in order to not lose her footing. They did not smell nearly as bad as the Uruks, or even the Rohirrim, had. Even so, she felt nauseous upon seeing them.

She was so intent on avoiding their corpses that, when she at last looked up, she gasped in shock and stepped backwards. Legolas was standing just a few yards away from her, his profile faint in the dark evening. She had not noticed him from the Hornburg; now, she saw that he was beside the Wall, staring down at the space below. He was less than a foot from where the stone crumbled, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. The breach.

Her heart hammering in her chest, Gúthwyn managed to croak, "What are you doing?"

Legolas glanced at her, but for a long time did not respond. His gaze returned to what he had been looking at.

Hesitantly, she moved forward, just so she could see what had caught his attention so. When she did, she recoiled, and pressed her hand over her mouth. Here was the most foul of the slaughter that had befallen the Elves; even her heart, hardened against them from the nights she had spent in Haldor's tent, grieved to see how their bodies were marred. Hardly any of them were recognizable. She wondered where Haldir was.

And then, shocking her as much as him, she found herself saying, "I-I am sorry."

Legolas lifted his head, and their eyes met. So saddened was the expression on his face that she was stunned by it; for once, a shudder of revulsion did not run through her.

"It was my fault," he said hoarsely, and his voice was choked with emotion. "If I had not failed, the Wall would have never been breached. "They"—he gestured wildly with his hands—"are all dead because of me!"

She had never seen him look so wretched before. In spite of herself, she felt a strange kind of pity for him. She could only imagine the guilt wreaking havoc upon his mind—after all, had he not been the one trying to bring that creature down, before he could light the fuse that would explode the Wall? Was that not when the Elves had been cut down as hay is beneath the reaper?

But he was not to blame. "Had he been guided by any lesser malice, that Uruk would have fallen," she told firmly, hardly believing that she was talking to him without anger or fear making her speech quiver.

Several moments passed, and not a word was exchanged by them. Legolas had stiffened when she had spoken, but his face was still miserable. Gúthwyn's skin started prickling; she knew she could not remain out here long. Abruptly, she said, "You were the best archer in the battle."

He looked up at her, and she turned away.

* * *

"Farewell," Éowyn murmured, taking Gúthwyn's hand. "I wish you a safe return." 

"Thank you," Gúthwyn replied. The two sisters were in the outer court of Helm's Deep, where all the warriors who were to make the journey with Théoden had gathered. It was the hour of their departure, and soon Gúthwyn would be traveling to the one land she had thought she would never see again: Isengard.

Her eyes met Éowyn's. "Will you be all right?" she asked her older sister, and received a resigned smile in response. As the White Lady of Rohan, Éowyn knew her duties, and did not run away from them, though she did not perform most of them willingly.

"I will be fine," Éowyn answered. "But tell me all that happens, even if Théoden would withhold information from me."

"I promise," Gúthwyn agreed eagerly, relieved to be able to help her sister in whatever way she could. The two of them embraced, and when they pulled apart Éowyn gave her a small wave. Then she left, having already said her goodbyes, as the wounded still needed to be tended to.

Gúthwyn watched her go, golden hair billowing behind her, and felt a twinge of regret. She would have liked Éowyn to be with her on the journey, though she was equally aware that someone had to be in charge of the people. Having had no training in such manners, Gúthwyn was unsuitable for the job, and much less constrained to the home than her sister.

She sighed. The journey to Isengard would be fraught with worry. It was not that they risked much danger on the roads. But the whole time they were traveling, she knew her mind would be tortured with thousands of unanswered questions. Would all of the slaves be there when she returned? Would any slaves be there? Would the Nan Curunír have changed much, with ten thousand Uruk-hai living inside it?

"Gúthwyn?"

Starting, she turned, and saw Tun standing just behind her. He looked surprised. "I just heard that you were to go with them," he said, his dark eyes narrowing in puzzlement. "Is this true?"

"It is," Gúthwyn answered, nodding. The last vestiges of her earlier fretting slowly vanished.

"Then I should be going with you," he replied. "After all, what good is my service if I am leagues away from you?"

"No!" she exclaimed. "Tun, your arm is broken—absolutely not. I forbid it."

"I can ride," he insisted, but she would not hear it.

"We will see each other at Meduseld," she told him. "I look forward to our meeting, but I would not have you causing further injury to yourself on my account."

"My lady—"

"Goodbye, Tun," she said, firmly but kindly. Before he could say anything, she gave him a careful hug.

He was mollified, and even wrapped his good arm around her in response. His touch was brief, as they both knew that anything longer would be inappropriate. Especially in the eyes of Éomer, whom Gúthwyn did not doubt was observing her every conversation. When she drew back, Tun let her go without further protest. She smiled, and left to locate Heorot. Her horse was waiting for her a few yards away, fully saddled and ready to go. When she had mounted, drawing cries of "My lady Gúthwyn!" from some of the onlookers, Éomer navigated Firefoot next to her.

"Regardless of what you say," her brother muttered, "I will be watching him."

"Éomer!" she hissed, slightly embarrassed. "He is my friend!"

"To you, he is," Éomer replied, and would have said more but for the sudden calling of a loud horn. Théoden rode up to them.

"Are you two ready?" he asked, his mood now perfectly normal. It was difficult for him to stay angry with his nieces and nephew, and this time had proved to be no exception. Gúthwyn was glad that he was no longer irritated with her.

They both nodded, and followed Théoden as Snowmane led them towards the doors—yet they were not really doors anymore. Hanging in splintered fragments off of the hinges, they reflected some of the battle's savageness. Éomer cast them a dark glance as they approached, but Gúthwyn's attention was more focused on the people. With two of its members returning from beyond all hope, the royal family was more loved than ever. She received great cheer from their open admiration and affection; not a single wave did she let go by unreturned.

As they rode down the causeway, she saw Gandalf upon Shadowfax, waiting for them at its foot. About him were Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli, the latter two on Arod once more. She, Théoden, and Éomer joined them, followed closely by the royal guard. She determinedly avoided looking at Legolas as Gandalf and her uncle exchanged brief counsel on how the journey was to be completed.

While she listened, her eyes wandered over to a group of workers. They were busy bringing the Elves down from the Deeping Wall, careful not to jostle their still bodies. At Legolas' instruction, they were not to bury them near the mountains—rather, closer to the forest, which was their natural habitat. Gúthwyn had seen the Elf struggling to keep himself under control as he said this. Never again would his friends walk under the trees of Lothlórien or Rivendell; even she could appreciate the sadness of it all.

Sighing, Gúthwyn focused back on her uncle and the wizard. From what she understood, they were to ride through the woods (Gimli stared askance at them, even at Gandalf's reassurances that no harm would come to them), and from there go to Isengard. The road would not be difficult, as none of Saruman's army was left to trouble them on their way.

Before long, they had started, the hooves of their horses thundering throughout the gorge as they went. Yet when they crested an ancient hill not two minutes later, Théoden ordered them to halt so that he might gaze out into the east. They all looked to Mordor in that moment, and it seemed to Gúthwyn that the dark clouds were smoldering with an unknown fire. She shivered.

"Sauron's wrath will be terrible, his retribution swift," Gandalf said then, and his voice was heavy with toil. "The battle of Helm's Deep is over. The battle for Middle-earth is about to begin."

As she listened to the wizard's words, she realized with dread that he was right. All of Sauron's forces still lay within the Black Gates, waiting for the right moment to launch an attack on the outside lands.

"All our hopes," Gandalf continued, and here Théoden glanced at him, "now lie with two little Hobbits."

And so they did, if you were Gandalf or Théoden or Aragorn. But Gúthwyn's hope was gone, buried along with the bodies of Borogor and the children.

_Yet even in this grim hour, I will not falter,_ she vowed. _Isengard is one journey that I must undertake._

When it was over… who knew what would happen? She would have to cross that bridge as it came.

So Gúthwyn smiled, but it was not for happiness, and there was no sparkle in her suddenly cold eyes.

**The End**

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Okay, I know this was ridiculously short in comparison to the first part. However, if you think about it, in Alone I only actually wrote about a hundred and thirty-some pages on events in The Fellowship of the Ring, while the rest of the 522 pages were about stuff that happened before then. The total page count of Reunions turned out to be 156.

Regarding the third part of this trilogy... I'm already about ten chapters into it. There will be more about Guthwyn coming to terms with the reality of what Haldor has done to her, and in it the fates of the children are going to be resolved. Furthermore, we will find out what happened to the slaves of Isengard during the years of her absence. Those of you who are wondering about Tun will unfortunately have to wait until the epilogue for that subplot to finish, though you will not be lacking for scenes with him in the third part.

I'd like to say a huge thank-you to everyone who reviewed this! Each one of those comments made my day so much brighter, as corny and ridiculous as that sounds. Several of you had questions, so I'm going to answer them here.

**Callie:** I'm afraid we won't be learning much more about Haldor at this point. The reason that I've vaguely made up for him following Gúthwyn is that Sauron ordered him to. The thing is, Sauron has nothing to lose by sending both of them out to find the Ring. If Gúthwyn finds it, he can take over Middle-earth. If she dies, he doesn't really care, because she's served her purpose. If Haldor trails after her and kills her, then that is all right by him--and maybe Haldor can find the Ring. If Haldor doesn't, then he will die--Sauron doesn't trust him that much, considering he is an Elf. The Dark Lord knows that Haldor is ruthless, and that is why he was put in charge of the human army, but besides that he was not given too much power.

Furthermore, Sauron can send Haldor out unsupervised and not have to worry about him returning to his home (which, ironically, I have imagined to be Mirkwood, where Legolas is from). I don't know if you've read _The Silmarillion, _but in it Elves who escaped from Morgoth were shunned by their people, because they were still under the sway of the Enemy. I realize that Sauron's power is much less than Morgoth's, though I still imagine that he would be able to control Haldor without much difficulty.

I hope that answers your question! It's a feeble excuse, and one of the weakest parts of my story--yet I made that piece up in sixth grade, so what can you expect? Heh.

And, unfortunately, I won't post all ten chapters at once; not until I come to the very, very end of my story. -.- Sorry about that!

**Lyn:** Regarding the dark hair, you're right--it's not at all common for the Rohirrim. As a matter of fact, I gave this trait to Gúthwyn in sixth grade, before I was concerned about keeping to canon, but as it turns out, she could actually have dark hair. Her grandmother was Morwen of Lossarnach, who did have dark hair, and even though it's not too likely, there is still a chance of Gúthwyn receiving that characteristic.

About the necklace, you're also right--it would be difficult for her to retain it throughout all the years. In Isengard, she often kept it tucked beneath her shirt; the dirt and grime that was on their bodies served to obscure any piece of the chain that was showing. In Mordor, she did not dare wear it, and kept it hidden in her pack. Borogor most likely knew about it, but he would certainly not say anything to anyone about it.

As for her sanity... She may seem fine now, but in reality she is far, far from it. Already I have hinted at some of the imbalances in her mind: The sensitivity of her stomach, her inability to eat more than a few bites of food without vomiting, her irrational fear of Legolas, the voices--the incident where she tried to kill herself was also an indicator. As the story progresses, more signs will come to the surface; during the epilogue is where all of these issues will come to light. Nearly all of Haldor's abuse was aimed at her mind, and there are many scars there that have yet to be uncovered.

**LuckyThirteen: **You asked whether it will be a Gúthwyn/Legolas romance, and to that I say--what will come will come.

I am also grateful to **toratigergirl11** and **Zoë**, two of my friends who don't review but put up with me constantly talking about this story. Heh, sorry for blowing your eardrums out.

Once again, thank you to everyone who has encouraged me with your reviews! I look forward to seeing you in the third part!

Until then,

**WhiteLadyOfTroy**


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